


An American in Paris

by CCNSurvivor



Category: Trollhunters - Daniel Kraus & Guillermo del Toro
Genre: Adventure, F/M, Romance, Time and Space Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2019-11-25 21:46:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 70,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18171845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CCNSurvivor/pseuds/CCNSurvivor
Summary: When Barbara Lake finds a portal of magic that transports her back to 1920s Paris, she probably doesn't expect to meet Walter Strickler there. She also doesn't anticipate falling in love.





	1. I Love Paris

**Author's Note:**

> \- this plot bunny just appeared out of nowhere, but I got really excited writing it  
> \- I know it's technically time AND space travel, but referring to it as "time travel" in the story is simply easier  
> \- comments, feedback and kudos would be lovely and much appreciated :)

Prologue:

 

Barbara Lake had early on discovered that it was often the most ordinary people who had the greatest secrets. She knew this, because as a doctor she had witnessed many a peculiar moment. Like the happy, young parents giving birth to a baby girl who resembled neither one of them. Or the elderly gentleman hastily altering his will while his wife nipped down to the cafeteria. Or the identical twins whose blood type did not match. But Barbara Lake also knew this, because she was one of them.

She knew first-hand that parenthood often involved a string of carefully negotiated lies, ranging from transforming hurtful truths to digestible facts for her infant son (“Your father and I just need a break from each other. But we love you very much”) to little white lies designed to make herself feel better (“I’m so glad you liked dinner. I must have had a good moment in the kitchen. This is definitely not take-out”). She also learned as Jim grew up that certain lies had become transparent which fortunately or in some cases unfortunately made them redundant altogether.

The trouble was that she had no idea how to navigate her current predicament other than withholding it entirely from her now sixteen year-old son. Because her predicament, her secret was so great and so outrageous, sharing it would make her look insane.

“Mom?” Interrupting her jittery thoughts, Jim poked his head into the room. He was tall for his age and lanky with a mop of jet black hair and thankfully a face still full and soft, and untouched by maturity. “Dinner is all set up in the fridge. If you don’t need anything else, I’ll be heading over to Toby's now.” 

“Sure, honey. Go ahead.”

She remained where she was, long enough for them to share a smile, to watch him go and hear the door fall shut behind him. Then she moved to the hallway window and waited until his form had disappeared into the nearby house. She didn’t like lying to him…or…not sharing things with him – whichever was more accurate- but she could also not deny the thrill she felt at doing something just for herself.

So at exactly a quarter past 2 on the 25th March, Barbara Lake set off. With her son’s carefully crafted dinner stored away in a satchel and armed with little more than her car and house keys, she left the house in the cul-de-sac of Arcadia and drove across town towards the three-way junction in the woods. She parked the car in a tried and tested spot and then walked the rest of the distance until she reached the portal for which she had come.

The swirling pool of energy was once more hidden beneath a pile of leaves. Uncharacteristic for the season but likely to remain unquestioned. The human eye rarely spotted anything out of place unless it was looking for it.

Glancing around nonetheless, just to make sure there weren’t any unwanted onlookers, Barbara fastened the satchel securely around her and removing her glasses at the very last moment, disappeared into the murky depths of the portal.

She found that the journey became more passable when she closed her eyes and sucked air into her lungs in short bursts only. Otherwise, the terrible force that was squeezing and squashing her skull would overwhelm her. Nausea, it appeared, was an unwanted but unavoidable by-product of time travel. For when Barbara Lake emerged on the other side, she was no longer in the 21st century, nor was she in Arcadia or indeed America anymore. Instead, as she thrust her trembling and clammy fingers into the satchel and put another pair of glasses back on, the imposing structure of the Eiffel Tower winked at her in the distance.

As the after-effects of her experience subsided and tension eased out of her body, a wide grin broke across her face and she only just managed to subdue a delighted squeal of excitement. This was Paris. These were the 1920s. And somehow this ordinary, plain mom of one had been thrust into it all.

The portal had spat her out into the by now familiar alleyway of which no one ever seemed to take notice. Which really was excellent, because she needed all the time she could get to access her secret stash, shed her 21st century clothes and get into the fashion of the time. The turquoise, drop-waist dress she had acquired after her initial unintended trip still did just the trick. Paired with the wire-rimmed glasses she had obtained back in Arcadia, it was now only her fire-red hair that drew attention.

Barbara had needed to adjust quickly to this new opportunity she had been presented with several months ago, and she’d even surprised herself with her own desire to transform and change. It wasn’t so much the curious looks she’d been aiming to avoid (although she was glad now to have successfully bypassed the groups and couples of pointing and whispering people), but an honest desire to break out of the mundanity of her ordinary existence. Her motherhood commitments and an overflowing schedule at the hospital meant that these visits were few and far between, but perhaps this was ever more reason to enjoy herself for the time being.

* * *

 

It was a beautiful Spring day in Paris and with purpose and confidence, Barbara steered towards the Jardin du Luxembourg. The pleated skirt of her knee-length dress swayed gently in the light breeze as she walked, and the dazzling sunlight broke itself on the greens and blues of her attire. Around her, handsome gentlemen were walking their dogs and young families were basking in the wonderful weather. It all added together to one idyllic picture had it not been for the honking of automobiles in the distance or the clouds of dark, dirty steam belched up into the air.

Still, Barbara had no actual complaints. After all, how often was one awarded a real snapshot glimpse into the past?

She spent most of the afternoon in the gardens, abandoning them only to devour her son’s carefully prepared BLT during a walk by the Seine. But it was in the evening, when darkness fell, that the city truly came to life. Lights glistened everywhere and Jazz music and rich, savoury scents drifted invitingly out of the doorways of the many cafés and brasseries. They, too, beckoned Barbara to explore and discover, and so it was perhaps unsurprising that she found herself on the Rive Gauche once more, setting foot into the Café de la Rotonde.

Although the entire establishment was seemingly overflowing with revellers, the waiter that greeted her by the door appeared eager to guide her to a table in the corner. From there she could observe at her leisure all the comings and goings, the scandalous flirtations and passionate debates. It was a vibrant scene that she had stumbled upon, full of Bohemian flair.

She was halfway through her first glass of red wine when a young man approached her.

“I’m terribly sorry to bother you, Mademoiselle, but my friends and I are desperate for a meal and a place to rest. Would you be at all adverse to us sharing your table?”

It was all uttered in a rapid swell of French words and she caught little more than “Mademoiselle” the first time round.

“Do you speak English?” she tried, extending a polite smile as well.

Experience had taught her that the French weren’t always susceptible to any other language than their own. In this instance, however, she was in luck. The young man chuckled bashfully and repeated his request in her mother tongue.

“Oh, no problem. It might be a tight fit but I don’t mind.”

“We won’t mind a bit either,” he re-assured her. “Walter! Jean!” He turned away from her only long enough to gesture wildly to his friends. Then he settled by her side and offered another disarming smile. “Thank you, Mademoiselle. You quite possibly just saved our lives.”

“It’s no trouble, and please call me Barb-“

She stopped short, because the last thing she had expected to do was coming face to face with her son’s high school history teacher. They’d only met once, briefly, on parents evening, but she was almost convinced that it was the same man who stood before her now. Was she not the only one who had discovered a time travelling portal in Arcadia?

“Uh…Barbara,” she finished, knocking over her glass of wine while rising to her feet to greet the two newcomers. “Ah crap. I’m so sorry.”

She fumbled around for a serviette and dabbed furtively at the puddle of red while the rest of the trio approached.

“No harm done, no harm done,” the young gentleman chuckled. “It’s only Walter. Face like an ogre, I know. But a pretty decent chap if you make allowances for him being English and all that.”

A look was shared between the two men. Mirthfully challenging on one side, quietly threatening on the other. The young gentleman was the first to turn away.

“Pity only for the wine,” he continued smoothly. “But we shall have more. Jean drinks like a fish.”

“I say, Jacques,” responded the woman in question, “you’re in a perfectly beastly mood tonight.”

“I know,” he grinned broadly. “Don’t you just love it?”

“I’m sorry, Miss, I did not catch your name.”

Walter Strickler was barely speaking above a murmur, but the familiarity of his voice struck her with immediate effect. She blinked and for a beat or two only stared at him blankly. Then, when his expression changed from open to ever so slightly puzzled and heat shot to her face, did she finally snap out of it.

“Barbara, hi, my name is…I’m…Barbara.”

No sign of recollection on his face. Which meant that either he was an impeccable actor, or she was truly just sitting next to one of Walter Strickler’s ancestors.

“A pleasure, I’m sure. Please don’t listen too closely to what Jacques is saying. His tongue, sadly, knows no bounds.”

“That seems to be needling you more so than me. I think he’s funny.”

Walter rewarded her comment with an unconvinced smile that might as well have been a grimace, while his green eyes travelled to his companion who hadn’t stopped talking for one moment. “Give it a few minutes.”

Several seconds ticked by as they flagged down the waiter, ordered their drinks and a handful of hors d’oeuvres and then Jacques focused on her once more.

“So, Barbara, what brings an American to Paris?”

The question prompted a bout of polite laughter which she couldn’t quite follow.

“They’re everywhere, dear,” Jean explained eventually, lighting her cigarette with a bored expression. “Crawling through streets and cafes like ants.”

Now she was starting to feel slightly affronted, but as she turned to look at her in disapproval her eyes met Walter’s and observing his mirrored displeasure helped ease the tension from her body. She put on a polite smile and focused on Jacques.

“Well, I lead a very busy life ordinarily and have never had the time to travel much. But Europe is exciting and Paris has always held some fascination so…voila.”

Walter snorted in quiet delight and Jacques seemed equally amused. It was only Jean who retained the same bland expression. But Barbara had already decided not to let it bother her.

“And what about you? You’re an interesting little group.”

“We’ve been friends a good long while now. And Walter just had to come to Paris to apply for a place on the historical council.”

“A history buff, eh? You don’t meet many of those.”

“Does one not?” he replied with a smile that was almost too charming. “What a shame, as we’re all a product of history. In fact, I consider myself a keen observer, and sometimes even a shaper. In years to come, any moment, perhaps even this precise moment in time will carry grave consequences. Best then to act with dignity and purpose.”

“Booooring!” Jacques called noisily, his eyes twinkling. And Barbara could have sworn that she heard something like a grunt or a huff of derision coming from Walter, but since the waiter was delivering their order in exactly that moment she couldn’t be sure.

The noise that had largely existed in the background washed over them in its entirety, as the group devoured their meal and consumed their drinks. Barbara enjoyed the moment of respite, permitted her glass to be refilled and only slowly emptied it again.

She took much pleasure in watching the busy goings-on and was trying to ignore how late it was getting. The table across from them had started what could only have been the quickest game of chess ever to be played. Within seconds the opponents were making their moves, punching the clock and challenging each other. Her new companions, however, didn't seem quite so impressed. 

“I say, I’m positively bored stiff here. Can’t we go somewhere fun? Somewhere with music and dancing?”

“An excellent idea, Jean. The best one you’ve had all day.” Jacques paused only to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. “What about you, Barbara, won’t you join us?”

She could feel Walter’s eyes on her, lingering with an intensity of which she couldn’t yet make sense. As though he was waiting, calculating something. But when she tilted her head to glance at him, he had schooled his features to a polite, neutral expression.

“I’m afraid, I can’t. The trip’s worn me out and I could really do with some sleep.”

While Jacques looked genuinely disappointed, the other two appeared little more than quietly unaffected.

“Let me walk you to your hotel then at least. It’s not safe for a beautiful, young woman on her own.” His flattery, although plain and direct, didn’t go entirely unappreciated and since Barbara could think of no reason to deny him, she agreed.

Soon they were saying their goodbyes and awkwardly disentangling themselves from behind the small table in a way that made the glasses clink together ominously.

“Take care now, darling,” said Jean, kissing her on both cheeks yet somehow failing to ever meet her eyes.

Then Walter took her hand and placed a light and chaste kiss on her knuckles. “Lovely meeting you, Barbara. And please, do be careful.”

She met his eyes amidst this peculiar warning, and for a moment it seemed as though they were glowing faintly red. A trick of the light, she knew, and yet she needed a second to compose herself.

The air outside had turned cool and crisp and as they walked towards the alleyway in which she had hidden her 21st century clothes. But it wasn’t the breeze that bristled across her shoulders that had the hairs at the back of her neck stand on end. Instead, it was a premonition of sorts, a feeling that something wasn’t right at all. Subtly, she moved one palm to cover her stomach as though the gesture alone could contain her anxiety. Jacques, on the other hand, was entirely oblivious and chattered away as happily as he had done in the café.

It happened when they were nearing the entrance to the hotel at which she’d claimed to be staying.

“Wait, did you hear that?”

A minute ago Jacques had dropped to his knees to tie his shoe laces, and now he was staring into the very alleyway Barbara was hoping to depart from. What if he could hear the whisper of the portal? Terror turned the muscles in her back rigid.

“Probably just a cat,” she called after him, but he ignored her and proceeded deeper into the little street.

“No no, there’s something here.”

Cautiously, she followed and to her surprise found him sniffing the air.

“Jacques? Is everything alright?”

With startling speed he whirled around, his eyes narrowed to slits that glowed yellow in the dark.

“How strange,” he whispered, and Barbara could only watch on in horror as his entire shape contorted into something that was no longer human. All sharp angles and claws. “You don’t smell like a witch at all. You smell…delicious…Barbara.”

Like an oversized panther he stalked closer and closer, pushing her further away from the portal that was her only way out.

“What are you talking about? What are you?”

Her voice quivered, her eyes darted here and there, desperate to find a solution.

“Don’t lie to me, fleshbag. Or perhaps I will take great pleasure, after all, tearing you limb from limb.”

It was in the moment he pounced that she made up her mind. It was the thought of her son, of Jim that drove her towards her assailant and not away. Their bodies collided with a sickening crunch that knocked the glasses from her nose. And as terrible laughter welled up around her, she blindly fumbled forward and forward still until she grasped the small bundle of her possessions and let herself drop into the cool pool of magic.

Alive but only just.

Barbara Lake had early on discovered that it was often the most ordinary people who had the greatest secrets, but she had no idea how they managed them once they’d got out of hand.


	2. And the Villain Still Pursued Her

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- so as I posted the first chapter, I asked my partner "Is this fandom still active?" because of course I have this  
>  idea NOW, ages after the "last" episode...aaand your response knocked my socks off!! I couldn't thank you   
>  enough, because reviews really are the best thing for a writer. So if you'd join me on this and let me hear your  
>  thoughts/criticism/expectations that'd be awesome!  
> \- with all that said, I hope you enjoy the chapter below :)  
> \- the idea came one day last week on the bus listening to "Anything Goes", so it's only fitting to give each chapter  
>  a title of a song or a play written by Cole Porter

With a thud she landed back on softened soil, the air around her cool and still. Somewhere in the distance cars were passing and through the thicket of trees around her, she could make out the blurrily twinkling lights of Arcadia. Barbara released the shaky sigh she’d been holding onto since her run-in with the monster and laid back down on the forest ground. But even when she closed her eyes and sucked air into her lungs with slow and steady breaths, her thoughts refused to settle. All her brain could do was play over and over the moment of transformation as though it hoped that one repetition would at last yield a digestible explanation. The gleaming yellow eyes, the chiselled sapphire torso, the fingers that ended in ever narrowing claws like overgrown nails.

She touched her fingers to the bridge of her nose and felt the welt where her glasses had dug into her skin during their clash. He had been hard like a rock, cruel and menacing. His humanity gone the moment he’d shed his original form.

Barbara shivered and sat up once more, feeling the bundle of clothes for her regular glasses, and suddenly the world around her came into sharp focus once more. A world that possessed magic and time defying portals and monsters. And innocent people like Jim and Walter. Planting her fingertips in the earth, she pushed up against gravity and let the momentum carry her until she landed on her knees which cried out in protest from the effect of the fall. But the portal in front of her remained swirling and calm. No sign of other life attempting to push through. Something at least, she thought, but definitely not enough.

Carefully, she covered the pool with the fallen leaves once more and with her possessions in hand walked back towards her car. Her legs felt frail and unsteady and her body bruised in various places, more of which she was sure to feel during her upcoming work days. Still it was a positive, albeit slightly twisted reminder that she was alive. Jacques could undoubtedly have done far worse if given the chance.

As she navigated her way out of the forest, her car’s headlights cast ominous shadows everywhere, and it would have been easy enough to imagine glowing eyes here too, watching her, following her. Thankfully, however, Barbara’s mind had at long last started to settle. She didn’t know much about time travel and what she did know stemmed from movies only; harsh consequences that threatened when messing with the fabric of time or serendipitous encounters.  But one fact remained irrefutable: someone had to warn Walter and Jean about the dangerous company they were keeping. After all, Strickler’s ancestor had to survive for him to be able to become her son’s history teacher.

It was true that she had no certainty that she had to be that person in question, but it was just as true that Barbara Lake could not bear the possibility of living with the knowledge that she might have failed to protect innocent people. She had to warn them, the only question that remained was how.

* * *

 

Unfortunately, the following weeks left little time for anything, let alone for the planning of time travel heroics. Between her commitments at the hospital and her motherly responsibilities a whole month passed before she found herself in front of the familiar portal again. Clothes washed and new glasses bought, there was only one way to go: down.  

As she was falling, it briefly occurred to her that she had no idea if she’d be spat out in the same old location or whether there’d be some kind of waiting committee, so it was a relief when her feet connected with the stone of the alleyway and one quick, sweeping look assured her that she was still alone. The plan was that there was no plan, save for tracking Strickler down at the Historical Council. If she succeeded in that, she’d have to improvise the rest. Little did she know the hurdles she’d already encounter before taking the first step. T

he problem was that Barbara didn’t know where the Historical Council was located, since a search on the Internet back in Arcadia had yielded no result. This forced her to waste valuable hours wandering through the streets, locating strangers who spoke English and then asking them for directions. Funny, how tedious even the prettiest city could become when one was on a desperate quest. The vibrant crowds and charming street vendors and artists transformed by the oppressive power of her emotions alone into something utterly unsightly.

Barbara shivered despite the warm sunshine and hurriedly pushed on, crossing the _Pont des Arts_ , making an immediate right once she had reached the other bank of the Seine. And there, before her, towered at last the building that housed the Historical Council of Paris. Being at least five stories high, she imagined that its stunning views made it the perfect location for a society that concerned itself with the very fabric of time that had shaped the city.

Waiting for a lull in the traffic, Barbara darted across the street and ducked into the shadow of the many columns which lined the ground level of the building. A single sign confirmed that she had indeed arrived at the correct place, yet she could find no knocker or bell to make herself heard. So she waited, waited for what felt like an eternity until the clock of the nearby _Notre Dame_ chimed the full hour. And with time further slipping through her fingers, she rapped her knuckles against the door. It was obvious that whoever was inside did not wish to be disturbed, and she could only imagine how scandalous it was as a woman to show such disregard for the rules. But she had no choice. When no-one answered, she knocked again and again until a tiny elderly gentleman opened the door for little more than an inch and glowered up at her.

“Can I help you, Mademoiselle?”

Barbara hastily put on her most placating smile. “I’m sorry to bother you, Sir. Do you speak English at all?”

If it was possible, his eyes would have skewered her alive.

“Yes.”

Well, it certainly required talent to imbue one word with such venom.

“I was hoping to speak to one of your members. A Walter Strickler, I believe?”

The wrinkles on his face deepened further, as his forehead broke into a frown.

“Yes,” he said once more, before closing the door in front of her nose and disappearing from sight.

Puzzled and more than a little perplexed, Barbara remained where she was. Automobiles honked noisily in the street and passing cyclists rang their bells, making it impossible to tell whether or not anything was stirring behind the heavy doors. She glanced back and forth to see if she was being observed, then pressed her ear against the wood to listen. Regrettably, it was at this precise moment that the handle was pushed down on the other side and she was sent tumbling forward until a pair of arms caught her around the waist.

“Barbara?” Walter Strickler asked, his green eyes boring into hers. It was as though for a second the mask slipped and his genuine shock at finding her there shone through. Of course, he was quick to remedy his faux-pas. “I had no idea you were still in the country!”

With his hands lingering on her waist, he shimmied them out of the doorway and into the sun, thus ensuring that no-one on the inside could catch a hint of their conversation. He was dressed in a beige woollen suit this time which had been left open to reveal a white shirt and matching brown waistcoat and bow tie beyond.

“Surprise,” she chuckled nervously and waved her hands in the air in a way that made the whole situation even more awkward.

Walter’s lips merely twitched lightly in an attempt to defy their master before he lifted his eyes to skim the horizon. “How can I be of assistance?”

She hesitated for a fraction of a second, long enough to formulate a sentence, and long enough for him to hone in on her uncertainty. His nostrils flared and as the sun glistened in his eyes, it turned his irises from green to golden.

“It’s a matter of delicacy,” Barbara hedged.

To her surprise Walter no longer seemed confused. Instead, a look of deep understanding overcame him, and he nodded gravely. “Jacques.”

“You’ve heard?”

She wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or not. But she didn’t like how her voice caught nervously.

“Yes, he came to find us afterwards at the club. He was feeling terrible. I understand you didn’t part on good terms?”

Well, that was the understatement of the century. But what was she to say? _“As a matter of fact, Walter, your friend tried to eat me”?_

Misinterpreting her silence, Strickler carefully linked their arms and started guiding her down the street. “Perhaps a drink to calm your nerves. If you’ll permit me, of course. I know a little bistro just around the corner from here.”

It was doubtful that a drink would be enough to rectify the situation, but maybe it could prove the perfect occasion to discover just how much Walter knew about his so-called friend.

“I’d like that.”

Together, they began strolling down the Seine.

“If you’ve been here for a while, you must have seen much of the city already.”

She retracted her gaze from the swirling water of the river. “Paris is big, especially if you do much of it on foot. Though, yes, it’d be fair to say that I’ve seen a bit. I like to sit in the gardens and cafes and watch the people go by.”

“How charming!” He chuckled, but it was a hollow sound, robbed of life by the politeness in which it was cloaked.

“And now tell me what you really think,” she challenged, digging one elbow playfully into his rib.

He glanced down at her, momentarily caught off guard, even scratched the back of his head nervously with his free hand.

“Oh, you must forgive me, Barbara. I fear I’ve grown a little tired of watching humanity. Professional hazard, you see?”

Her laughter was warm and soft and genuine, and it touched something within his heart that had lain dormant for a while.

“You are forgiven, Walter. Now wipe that stricken look off your face. That really isn’t necessary. I was only teasing you.” Automatically, she wrapped her arm more tightly around his and tugged his body closer as they walked. “What would you propose I should see then?”

“What a dangerous question to ask a historian, Barbara.”

She found she liked the way his skin crinkled around his eyes when he smiled.

“But if you’re certain, perhaps you’ll indulge me in a small detour?”

“Lead the way.”

For the better part of the next hour, Walter guided them through the _Île de la Cité_. They began their tour at the most easterly point, walking through the gardens behind _Notre Dame de Paris_ while he dispensed with facts about its conception and architecture. He was very apt at storytelling and could create a rich tapestry of narratives that almost brought history back to life.

On they went towards the west, passing the _Palais de Justice_ , _Sainte Chapelle_ with its beautiful stained glass windows and the _Conciergerie._ Once a prison that had housed many a folk facing the guillotine, most famous of which, of course, Marie Antoinette.

The history of Paris, it seemed, was caked with blood and Walter aware of every gruesome detail. She liked to watch him as he talked, here with her as he was and yet slipped away to a different time. He often used his left arm to gesticulate and emphasise, recreating the push and pull of motivations that had shaped the city into what it was now.

“Thank you for humouring me, Barbara,” he said after he’d caught her glancing at him one too many times.

She hurriedly averted her gaze and missed the fleeting look of reluctance that marred his features.

“It was my pleasure, Walter. You’re very good at what you do.”

He brushed his free hand through the air as though to wipe away her compliment and then guided her to the most westerly tip of the island that appeared to have been completely taken over by vegetation. Trees were sprouting heavenwards on this stretch of land that had been transformed into the tiniest garden, and flowers bloomed unseasonably early. And nestled in midst of this lush green stood the bistro Strickler had promised to take her to.

“Ah Walter, _mon ami_! Back so soon?”

Suddenly the doors of the small establishment opened to give way to a hefty figure who promptly strode towards them and kissed her companion on both cheeks.

“Your menu is remarkable, Claude, as you well know. So when I ran into an old friend of mine…”

“You simply had to bring her here.” The proprietor nodded solemnly and then clutched both of her hands in his. “A pleasure, Mademoiselle, a pleasure. I will clear a spot on the back terrace, eh? For some uh…” he paused and looked knowingly between them, “for some privacy, of course.”

And before Walter could protest he had disappeared from whence he’d come.

“I…uh…” Walter said, spreading his hands to signal an apology, but Barbara only laughed and linked their arms once more.

“No harm in letting him have his fantasy.”

“But your reputation.”

This time she was denied an answer as Claude returned, ushering an entire flock of people out of the bistro. When he’d said that he would clear a spot for them, she hadn’t known that he’d meant it so literally.

“Oh don’t worry, mademoiselle,” he re-assured her when he spotted her surprise, “tourists, eh? Only sitting and looking, not buying much. Pfft.”

She giggled a bit, albeit uncertainly, shot Walter a look who only shrugged and then followed Claude through the establishment and out onto the garden terrace. He waited around only long enough to be seated and left with the promise of the in-house specials.

“Quite the character, isn’t he?”

“I hope I haven’t made you uncomfortable.”

"Oh, don’t be silly now. It’s been a while since a man has shown me such chivalry and consideration. Especially such consideration for my reputation.”

She could tell that she had flattered him by the way his lips quirked upwards into a goofy grin. But her words lost their sweetness much too soon. It was there in the thoughtful look that hardened his eyes and crinkled his forehead into a frown. Because there had been one man who’d proven to possess neither of those attributes. And as the silence stretched on, the unspoken truth about Jacques stood quietly between them. It was sobering, as though both of them had resurfaced at once into a reality that was far from favourable.

Thankfully, Claude returned a moment later, carrying a pitcher of wine and a plate of bread and cheese. “Our _entrée_ , please do enjoy.”

Glad to occupy her hands, Barbara poured them each a glass and then took the initiative to appease her conscience. “I have found Paris to be a breath of fresh air. Vastly different from the life I lead in America. And as unpleasant an encounter as I had with Jacques, it definitely hasn’t deterred me from enjoying my time here.”

“I am pleased to hear it,” Walter replied politely, but his expression remained inscrutable. Like a chess grandmaster he seemed to carefully weigh up his next move.

“And I can only apologise on his behalf, Barbara, and relay, as I have already done, how terrible he felt afterwards. He’s impulsive and young…” A breeze passed through the air around them and with a creak a branch began to sway, casting a long shadow over Walter’s face. “Neither of which excuses his indiscretion, of course.”

Something had shifted between them now like a barrier that neither had wanted to exist.

“Have you known each other long then?” Barbara asked in a last-ditch effort to salvage…something. Perhaps a friendship that might have been if not for circumstances. Perhaps a kinship. It was impossible to put reason to the loss she experienced.

“Quite a while, yes,” he answered guardedly and slowly rose to his feet. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just go and see where Claude is with the rest of our meal.”

She nodded to herself and stared at the untouched plate of sandwiches in front of her. Did he find her inappropriate now, she wondered. Was he siding with his friend? Could she trust him with the weight of the truth? She sighed and felt herself deflate. Unlikely. He’d sooner have her thrown into an asylum, and that was a risk she could not take.

“Claude sends his apologies, a minor mishap in the kitchen. He’ll be out in just a moment, but in the meantime he’s offering another small _aperitif_.”

He brushed past her and took his seat, setting down upon the table a couple of thin, frail glasses filled with a honey-golden liquid. Fortified by the wine, Barbara lifted the drink to her lips and enjoyed the way it burned a warm trail down her throat. Tart and sweet, like liquorice or absinthe.

“To your good health,” Walter toasted, mirroring her actions.

In the distance, the water of the Seine lapped up against age old stone. Persistently. Rhythmically. Thick branches swayed in the wind.

Her vision blurred.

Gingerly, Barbara swiped her glasses away and rubbed her eyes, but it didn’t help matters. Nothing was sharp or concrete anymore. Inside her head, her thoughts tumbled wildly about until one sentence tolled like a belated warning in her ears. With difficulty, she put her glasses back on and brought her eyes to meet Walter’s.

“You told me to be careful that night.”

Something dangerous flashed in the green depths.

She blinked. Lashes sticking to her skin, she struggled opening her eyes again.

“You know!”

Plates and glasses clinked together noisily as she struggled to her feet. The ground lurched sickeningly underneath her.

“I’ve had enough. I...I’m going home.”

But he was by her side with a speed that startled her.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that, Barbara.”

And just like that everything turned black. 


	3. Why Can't You Behave?

When Barbara first regained consciousness in the dark, she experienced a brief moment of confusion. As though the bed she was lying in should have been positioned differently, as though there should have been a window to her left. Like a first night spent in another city or in a hotel room, her brain stalled in confusion until it remembered where she really was. Unfortunately, along with it came a whole host of other unpleasant memories that she longed to have forgotten entirely.

How could she have been so naïve not to consider that Strickler might be one of the monsters, too? How could she have trusted him so blindly?

And what about Jim? How long had she been knocked out for? How long had she been gone from his life?

Slowly, Barbara rolled to lie on her side from which position she could see a sliver of light just underneath the door. Voices, too, were drifting towards her from that direction, muffled and barely intelligible. She hesitated for just a moment, checked her body over carefully and then let herself drop onto the floor. Her limbs felt heavy and numb, but thankfully they possessed enough strength to carry her towards the threshold where she paused, letting the air that had built up in her chest slowly and quietly escape.

“You should be grateful you’re still here at all.”

The voice sounded gruff yet oddly familiar, and Barbara frowned and cautiously pressed her ear against the door. Someone was pacing on the other side.

“I do not fear you, Stricklander. You’ve grown weak! Capturing the fleshbag but not disposing of her…” 

The sound of something wet smacking dully against carpet. A scrape. A growl.

“Boys, boys, boys…” A female voice this time. A little apathetic, a little indifferent. “You’re not going to fight over your meal, are you? However entertaining that might be…”

“What meal? Stricklander would much rather-“

But she didn’t find out. Instead, there was an almighty crash, followed by a terrible sound like stone grinding against stone.

“You’d do well to hold your tongue, Robespierre.”

“You both would,” the female voice hissed, “the fleshling is awake.”

Barbara clasped her hand over her mouth and automatically started crawling away from the door. Something sparked like lightning in the distance, then the room was opened up and harsh bright light came flooding in. She sought to shield her eyes at first, before surrendering to the inevitable and blinking at the figure that towered in front of her. Bracing herself for horns and claws, she was surprised to find Strickler in his human form.

“How are you feeling, Barbara?” he inquired, extending a hand to help her to her feet.

Her eyebrows shot up at the same time as her lips pinched together to form one hard line. “I don’t know, Walter. How’s a woman supposed to feel that’s been deceived, drugged and kidnapped?”

She applauded herself for letting his given name sound like an insult, then slapped his hand away and painstakingly pulled herself up. Infuriatingly, Strickler only chuckled amused and lifted his palms in a placating gesture.

“No need to be so hostile. Nothing about this is personal. In fact, if anyone here was to blame it would be Robespierre.” He accompanied his last remark with a swift glance outside where the changeling in question huffed in annoyance.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Is that meant to reassure me?” Barbara questioned, stepping towards him only to stab his chest with the pad of her index finger.

Before he could answer, however, something stole into the room with them. She heard it whisper across the floor, heard it scurrying. But it moved at such fast pace that even the shadows it cast upon the walls around her were too fleeting to identify.

“Maybe the woman is more exciting than I gave her credit for.”

Something was sniffing her, circling her. Rose-tinted irises at last flashed up close enough to be seen.

“I’ve had quite enough of you both. Leave. Now! I will handle it from here.”

Jean, for it could only be her, Barbara reasoned, snickered and slunk out of the room, permitting herself to be seen at last. Spindly legs supported a strangely extended rear like that of a dung beetle or scarab, and just before she assumed her human form once more, Barbara could see that she bore yellow and black markings like those on a wasp or a Tiger’s eye stone.

There was another flash of lightning as Robespierre became Jacques once more. Then the fading sound of footsteps and at last, a door falling shut.

For a beat or two only silence reigned between Barbara and Walter as they sized each other up. She could not say what he was searching for but found in his face only hard lines and steely determination.

“Please, Barbara, take a seat.”

It was almost laughable, his insistence on manners and politeness when he had essentially rendered her his prisoner. But she had no doubt that he could easily overpower her if she struggled, and so she followed his sweeping hand movement out into the salon.

A large brown leather sofa had been positioned underneath a window through which only the street lanterns and the faint light of the moon glistened. Standing slightly askew but nonetheless in front of it was a coffee table whose surface had been wiped clean, for the carpet bore traces of glass, papers and flower petals. Doubtlessly, the source of the crash she'd heard earlier on. It was flanked on either side by a row of bookcases that housed tomes new and old, and some with the most peculiar spines she had ever seen. Not that she had much time to linger and observe, because Strickler was using his imposing presence to usher her forward until she had sunk down at last.

“Can I offer you a drink?” 

Smoothly, he curled his fingers around the edge of the coffee table and scooted it back into its rightful spot. 

“Rather not.” She avoided his eyes and tucked her legs against her body to prevent them from being sandwiched between sofa and table.

He didn't look at her but swiftly scooped up the debris.

“I understand your hesitation, but you must be thirsty.”

And to her annoyance, he disappeared into the kitchen and returned a moment later, carrying a glass of water. She stared at it as though it was something utterly offensive and did not touch it, even when he set it down in front of her.

“Are you done? Because I need to get back to my boy.”

Barbara was trying to sound nonchalant or stubbornly indignant at best. But mentioning Jim made her voice crack with concern and tears well up in her eyes. Hurriedly, she snatched her glasses from her nose and wiped her face with the back of her hand. If she had anticipated snide words to mark this showing of vulnerability, however, she was mistaken. For when she next glanced up at Walter, he hadn’t moved an inch. In fact, he stood perfectly still before her, rigidly even, rubbing his large hands together nervously. His dark brows were still drawn upwards in restrained assessment, but his demeanour no longer promised a storm.

“You have a son?”

He dug in his trouser pockets and eventually produced a clean white, neatly folded handkerchief.

“Thank you,” she whispered and accepted it despite her reluctance.

While she tidied herself up, Walter did little but shift from one leg to the other. She noticed how he barely lingered to look at her, how the corners of his mouth were pulled down by some invisible weight.

No further words passed between them, but the unspoken hung thick and uncomfortably like facets of what might have been in the air between them.

“Jacques has shown me the portal and I have examined it closely. What strange magic do you possess and how have you sealed it so cunningly that only you may come and go?”

“I don’t know,” she replied in earnest, drawing up her shoulders. Tears had splashed against her glasses and left their salty traces which she hurried to clean. “I just fell into it one day and found myself here.”

Something inscrutable flickered in the depth of his green eyes. But in the end he seemed to decide that he believed her. “You are not a witch then or a sorceress?”

“No.”

“No, you do not smell like one. Although the faintest hint of magic clings to you. I cannot believe I’ve been too ignorant to notice.”

He brought one slender index finger to the side of his head to rub his temple, and Barbara used his moment of contemplation and visible tiredness to pounce. “Who are you? What are you?”

He glanced in her direction yet refused to answer. “If the portal has brought you here, where is it that you’ve come from?”

But Barbara would have none of it. Digging the heels of her hands into the sofa, she scooted to the edge and fixed him with one unwavering look. “If you want me to tell you things, you’ll have to do the same for me. So, who or what are you?”

Almost immediately his expression clouded over and as his nostrils flared, he let out an inhuman huff. Turning away from her, he began to pace.

“We are changelings.”

“Half human, half…?”

“No no no, it doesn’t work like that,” he snapped impatiently and as his temper slipped, his eyes glowed yellow.

“How _does_ it work then?” Barbara insisted and almost delighted in the scowl this prompted.

“We do not have time!” He walked back and forth, the soles of his shoes drilling into the carpet. But when she held her peace and offered nothing further, he conceded with a flourish of the hands and a deep sigh. “In one word? Trolls. Now you must answer me!”

“America,” she replied sweetly and took far too much pleasure in watching his anger grow.

“Please, dispense with the obvious.”

It was fascinating how his voice was changing, turning gruffer like gravel grinding against gravel.

“America in the 21st century.”

That stopped him in his tracks. With shoulders tensed, he turned to look at her, his face a mask of seriousness and displeasure.

“Time travel?”

Barbara nodded, then froze entirely too when something flashed ominously in his eyes. She didn’t dare move or swallow or breathe.

“You fell through a time travelling portal?”

“Yes, imagine my surprise.” Her throat constricted, strangling the nervous laughter that was about to bubble up. “I definitely drew some attention to myself. Arriving in trousers and a top that wasn’t at all cut fashionably. Having no currency to pay my way. Everything was…a little…overwhelming but also curious. So I made the relevant changes, I did my research, and when I came back again I fit in better.”

Now he pressed both index fingers to his temples.

“And why precisely did you return?”

Exasperation painted his voice in an ugly, murky hue which stung as though she’d been physically reprimanded.

“Too many questions. My turn,” she decided, crossing her arms to ward off his displeasure. “If changelings are half troll, half human-“ She waved away his impatient scoff and continued. “Then are there full trolls as well?”

“Of course.”

“And are you all made of stone?”

He bristled, grinding his teeth. “Yes, for simplicity’s sake.”

Barbara considered this for a moment, wondering where one might encounter trolls since they did not have the benefit of a human form. But his lingering, expectant gaze proved too distracting to reach any kind of conclusion.

“I’ve already told you why I’m here. Because Paris was a breath of fresh air and I liked it. Why wouldn’t I return? My life back home is so…” She trailed off, uncertain of what she’d been about to say. Busy? Stressful? Predictable? She shook her head and felt a strand of hair slip out of its confinement. “There’s only me and my boy and my job. Ever since his father left us, life has been nothing more than a string of challenges we’ve had to navigate. And we did alright. We always found a way.”

A snapshot of milestones lit up her mind and coaxed her mouth into a tremulous smile that made the lines on her face crinkle becomingly. Within each and every one of them lived a hundred memories just waiting to be unfurled. Carefully, she brought her eyes back up to meet Walter’s.

“And although I gave it all gladly, it was hard. You start living for your child alone. That’s how it should be. Love is strange like that. But you can’t lose yourself in the process, and I’m not sure that I have succeeded. So I guess you could say it became addicting…this…freedom. When I come to Paris I’m not Dr Lake or Mom. I’m just Barbara.”

Walter opened his mouth then closed it again while his dark brows were drawn into arches of puzzlement. At last, he clasped his hands in front of his stomach and sank down next to her on the sofa.

“You might not believe me when I say so, Barbara, but I understand. I truly wish Jacques would not have exposed himself and forced my hand like this. I rather liked getting to know you.”

His change of tactic caught her off-guard and hardened her suspicion. And she might have said something unkind in return, had she not studied him carefully first. His shoulders were slumped and his breathing heavy. And as the light of the moon broke itself on his dark lashes, she found only dull melancholy and weariness in the green pools beyond. He looked aged then, aged and worn, and she wondered fleetingly how many decades, how many centuries had passed him by.

It wasn’t enough to trust him, but it was enough not to condemn him entirely.

“I liked getting to know you too, Walter. Right until the point you drugged me.”

He ducked his head away and proceeded to steeple and unsteeple his fingers. “I had no choice.”

“Nonsense,” Barbara argued firmly, “there is always a choice. And if you’re so mad at Jacques, why hasn’t he received some kind of punishment?”

Immediately, he looked up at her again with a seriousness that rendered her speechless. She could see his Adam’s apple bob against his collar as he swallowed.

“Oh, he will be punished.” Something bleak and ominous clung to his cryptic announcement, and she found herself shivering in response. “Bular does not suffer fools.”

“Bular?”

But Walter shook his head and hoisted her to her feet. “The less you know the better. I’m sorry, Barbara. I wish I could let you go, but it simply isn’t possible.”

She tried to resist, attempted to dig her heels into the carpet, but he possessed too much strength to be stopped.

“You can’t keep me trapped here forever,” she told him quite firmly as he started to close the door in her face. “You cannot stop me from seeing my son. My son, Walter! Please!”

Once more he ducked his head so he didn’t have to meet her eyes.

“This is for the best. I know you didn’t mean to do so, but who knows how much of your life you’ve already altered by being here? Time travel is a delicate art. One wrong step and the future as you know it might be erased.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- thank you again for your kind support, I hope you continue to enjoy. Feedback will never cease to make my day  
> (good or bad, provided it's constructive) so please keep it coming :)  
> \- please don't worry, there will be fluffy/soft chapters in the future. But I'm a fan of pining and slow-burns and  
> also some degree of realism. Sooo...as feisty as Barbara can be, as afraid she is at the same time. Walter will have  
> to earn her trust again. And she'll have to understand him and his motivations better. But he/she will. I've got it  
> mapped out.  
> \- next chapter we'll be going back to the future ;)


	4. Miss Otis Regrets

The darkness was stifling. Nothing concrete wherever she looked. And although Strickler hadn’t bound her, the inscrutable blackness that pervaded even the farthest corner rendered her immobile. Tears stung in her eyes, then dripped down her cheeks like blazing trails of her anger and desperation. Would she ever see Jim again? How could she have failed him so?

It was impossible to tell what Strickler was doing. Most of the time her ears only met with dull silence, occasionally pierced by the drumming of footsteps. There had to be a way out. She’d simply have to find it.

“ _Barbara_.”

She blinked and pulled herself upright. How much time had passed? Had she fallen asleep? The deafening darkness remained the same.

“Hello?”

No answer. No sound. Not even a single sign of life from behind the door.

Releasing a heavy sigh, Barbara sank back down onto the bed only to shoot up again when something brushed up against her hand. She could hear it whisper now in the air around her and for a dreadful moment though that Jean had somehow stolen into the room. But then the voice spoke to her again.

“ _Barbara. Open your hand_.”

“Who are you? _Where_ are you?”

She wasn’t granted an answer and reluctantly chose to comply. Still, her hand trembled when she unfurled her fingers to reveal her palm. Something cool and solid dropped against her skin and when she carefully felt her way around it, she discovered that it was a key.

And as though anticipating her next question, the voice said, “ _You are free to leave, Barbara._ ”

“Leave?” she whispered in return. “But how?”

A light chuckle. A warm breeze caressing her face.

* * *

 

“Mom? Mom! Mom, you’re gonna be late!”

Barbara waved her hand in the general direction of the voice and buried her head underneath her pillow.

“I've left you breakfast downstairs. Mom, c’mon get up. I gotta go too. Toby is waiting outside.”

She groaned out a muffled response and shifted until the mattress creaked noisily in complaint and something small but solid toppled down onto the carpet. And suddenly she remembered. The key. The voice.

“Jim?”

Her eyes flew open and she sat up so abruptly that the momentum of the jerk nearly sent her glasses tumbling off her nose. The lanky teenager remained caught in the doorway, his blue eyes travelling from her hair which resembled a bird’s nest to her bare toes as she rushed towards him.

“Are you feeling alright, mom?”

She squeezed him once and brushed an errand strand of dark hair out of his eyes. Then finally following his glance, she realised that she was still clad in the same turquoise, drop-waist dress as before. But how could she be here and no longer confined to the past?

“Yes, I’m fine, honey. Just a-an experiment gone wrong.”

He frowned and started sizing her up again, punctuating each new discovery with a badly concealed grimace.

“How are you? Are you alright?” She drew him towards her again, the warmth of his body and the brush of clothes against skin re-assuring her that he was solid and real.

“Mom…” he softly chastised her and bashfully ducked his head away. “Why are you acting so strange? Of course I’m fine. Just late. And so are you going to be in a minute.”

Barbara glanced away briefly to check the time on her alarm clock and groaned inwardly when she realised that he was right. There was barely enough time left to shower and eat before her shift at the hospital started. “What would I do without you?”

Jim tolerated the light kiss that she placed on his forehead and shifted closer to give her a squeeze. “Love you, mom. Need to run now. Oh, and you've dropped a key.”

She looked where he was pointing and then stooped down to pick it up. The metal still felt peculiarly cool against her palm.

“I love you too, kid. Be safe.”

Making sure that the key disappeared from sight, she waved him off and watched him through the window until his figure and that of his friend faded to nothing more but blurry outlines against the horizon. The house around her remained quiet and still. A safe haven, a firm foundation to provide shelter from her recent experiences. But she couldn't afford to linger. Discarding her complete attire in the nearby hamper she crossed the hallway to take a shower, knowing that her impending shift at the hospital would do the rest to sufficiently distract her.

* * *

 

By the time she returned to the little house in the cul de sac darkness was threatening even the last rays of sunshine. She parked the car in the drive and rolled her shoulders to ease the knot of a particularly tense bundle of muscles. In the background the radio DJ was talking his way through the week’s top 10 hits. Barbara smiled to herself and let herself linger a moment longer. Because it was nice being back home where even the most unpredictable had become predictable.

Inside the house the lights were burning and through the living room window she could just make out the flickering of the television screen. Her smile grew. Finally, she grabbed her bag from the passenger seat and bounded up the stairs to the front door.

“Honey, I’m home!”

She threw her keys onto the designated hooks and with her back still turned tried to identify the movie playing on the TV.

“Oh hey, mom. I uh…I made dinner. Just gotta heat it up.”

That was the first sign that her night was about to take an unexpected turn. He rarely emitted such nervous laughter and if he did it was because he had something to hide.

“Everything alright, kiddo?” 

“Yeah, sure. Everything’s fine. Why wouldn’t it be? Did someone say something?”

Even more suspicious now, Barbara narrowed her eyes. “Jiiim?”

The corners of his mouth dragged down as he grimaced before he jumped with considerable grace over the edge of the sofa. “I’ll get that dinner for you now.” And he scurried away before she had the chance to say anything else.

Hesitantly, she sank down onto the couch and stared unseeingly at the flashing screen in front of her. Countless considerations raced through her mind. Could it be about his dad? Could it be a girl? But it was impossible to reach a plausible conclusion, because Jim had never really been in trouble. He was simply too good.

“I’ve rented Robocop 2. But if you’re not really into it we can watch something else.”

Now if ever there was a stalling move, this was it.

Then it hit her.

Tonight was parent-teacher evening, and in the middle of all the time travelling business she had entirely forgotten. More than that, however, Jim seemed to have been determined to keep her in the dark which at least explained where he’d got into trouble. It just didn’t explain why.

“I don’t think we’ll have time for any movies, kiddo. Don’t want to keep those teachers waiting.”

Immediately, his head popped out. “Do we really have to go? I mean, you know what they’ll say. It’s always the same.”

“Then it should be a breeze and we can catch up on Robocop afterwards.”

More nervous laughter followed, accompanied by a reluctant nod. “Yeah, sure. Why not?”

She listened to the measured rhythm of his cooking. The sizzling of oil, the clank of spoon against pan. The very soundtrack of home life ever since Jim first discovered the culinary arts for himself. They didn’t discuss his strange behaviour anymore nor his omission of truth. Instead they exchanged ordinary snippets of conversation over dinner until the hour was advanced enough for them to leave.

A mixture of rock and pop was playing on the radio as they drove, and Barbara shot curious glances towards her son every now and again. But he didn’t seem to notice. His forehead was resting against the glass of the window, his eyes focused on something beyond her reach. What weight he must carry on his shoulders to look so preoccupied...

Just before they pulled into the school’s parking lot, she reached across to silence the radio.

“Wanna tell me what’s wrong now, honey?” She made sure to keep her voice soft and patient, to ban all maternal concern from it. “You know you can talk to me about anything.”

His blue eyes found hers, his lips parted…then he shook his head and drew up his shoulders. “No, mom, let’s just go inside.”

Disappointment made her stomach coil and fear sent her heart trilling against her chest. It was as though a gulf had opened up between them and there was no means left to bridge the distance.

She followed him as he slunk out of the car and headed towards the school entrance. Students and parents were dotted here and there, some laughing and joking, others wearing the same fearful expression she had found in Jim’s face.

“Who are we seeing first then?”

He dug in his trouser pocket and fished out a folded up piece of paper. His face only grew more desperate.

“Strickler,” he groaned at last.

Had he been more alert he might have noticed how his mother’s face fell too. Of course she’d known that he would be there, but somehow it was only beginning to sink in now that they would be coming face to face once more and that he might just know more than he had done at the last parent-teacher evening.

“Mom?” Jim questioned, sounding almost hesitant. “It’s this way.” And hastily burying her thoughts, she followed him.

Arcadia High’s hallways smelled of a weird combination of bleach and canteen food with overtones of coffee and anxiety. The floor squeaked under their feet as they walked and slowly the voices of the crowd subsided to a hum in the distance. What she found reassuring, however, appeared to be intolerable for her son who failed to stand still while they were waiting outside Strickler’s office. He shimmied from side to side or absent-mindedly patted down the pockets of his trousers. Then he glanced at his watch.

“Waiting for something?”

A nervous glance was shot her way, but he was spared an answer when the door to their right opened up.

“Ah, Mr and Mrs Lake.”

“Miss Lake,” Barbara corrected automatically and rose to her feet.

“Oh, I am so sorry. I do believe I made the same mistake the last time we met. Do come in.”

In the decades that lay between Paris and Arcadia, Walter Strickler really hadn’t changed. His hair showed more sprinkles of grey and his attire had been updated, but his face bore the same traces of middle-age as they did in the past. A perk of the changeling nature, she supposed.

Placing a hand on Jim’s back, she ushered him inside the office and assumed her seat in front of the desk. She hadn’t given it much attention last time, but the room, too, possessed a strange resemblance to the salon in Paris she’d left behind less than 24 hours ago. She wagered that some of the books might even be the same.

“Thank you for seeing us.”

“Well, the pleasure is all mine. Only I wish I had something more positive to say.” She followed his gaze to her son who stubbornly stared ahead. “Young Atlas here has been missing a few important classes and his grades have slipped considerably. I’m sure I can speak for all of us teaching staff when I say that we’re rather concerned.”

It was a little bit like watching a movie, Barbara thought. Knowing the secret her son’s history teacher was keeping. Not knowing whether he’d recognised or remembered her at all while at the same time experiencing a helplessness to stop anything from spinning out of control.

“Is that true, Jim? Have you been skipping classes?”

“It’s fine, mom. Nothing that I can’t catch up on again.”

She swallowed. Her heart constricted. Could find no words for the ache she felt at his carelessness. Because perhaps this should have been anticipated. Perhaps this was what all teenagers were like. Except that it was nothing like Jim. Nothing like the son she’d raised, the son she thought she’d known.

“It’s okay if you’re struggling. But if the pressure is getting to you or you need help, you only just need to ask me.”

_When?_ A treacherous voice whispered. When you’re away at the hospital? Or when you wake up in the middle of the day after a long shift? Or when you’re gallivanting through Paris?

“I’m fine, mom, okay? I don’t need any help. I’ve just been focused on other things.”

“What things, Jim? What could have possibly become so important?”

“Young Atlas, if I may, you really oughtn’t to be carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. Your mother is right.”

The expression on Jim’s face was painful to watch. He looked stricken and ever so small, as though he was yearning to share a truth that was much too big to sit on his tongue.

“Honey?” she tried gently, reaching out for his hand. But his phone beeped and the moment was shattered.

“I…I got to go. I’m really sorry, mom.”

What compassion and empathy she’d felt quickly dissolved into annoyance. “You’re not leaving now, Jim. We’re not done here.”

But he’d already hopped up and rushed to the door. “But I really can’t stay.”

“Jim!”

Her heart was thudding wildly and feeling nothing but disbelief, she turned to face Walter. He smiled at her, albeit briefly. “It’s going to be alright, Miss Lake. I’m certain he’s merely going through a phase. I remember being a young, rebellious boy myself once…” He chuckled charmingly and for a split-second it was all too easy to forget who he really was, what he was actually capable of.

“I don’t understand what’s happening,” she whispered, “this isn’t like him at all.”

And just like that realisation struck. Her head jerked up, her eyes met Strickler’s, but in their depth she found only confusion and mild curiosity.

“I…I’m sorry. I’m going to have to leave,” she muttered, unwittingly repeating her son’s words and just like him, she bolted from the office.

She by-passed the busy hallways where other teachers were likely to reach out to her and walked as swiftly as she could towards her car outside.

_Who knows how much of your life you’ve already altered by being here?_

Strickler’s words ran through her mind as she pushed the key into ignition and manoeuvred her way out of the parking lot.

_T_ _ime travel is a delicate art. One wrong step and the future as you know it might be erased._

Had she already taken the first steps to erasing herself and her life? Jim had changed dramatically, withholding things, keeping secrets. And Strickler didn’t show any signs of recognition towards her.

Barbara squeezed down the gas in her desire to get back home quickly and the well-used car groaned underneath her. Her thoughts were whirling wildly and fear was constricting her throat so she couldn’t swallow. Still, she urged the vehicle on, but when she returned the house in the cul de sac was empty. No sign of Jim. Just the remnants of their dinner and of a home life that now seemed too far in the past.

In her agitation, Barbara climbed back into the car and began driving towards the portal in the woods. Perhaps if she destroyed it her life as she’d known it would stop falling out of its hinges and return to how it had been before. Never mind that she had no idea whether that plan would work or not. Never mind that she had no idea how one destroyed a time travelling portal.

There was a light breeze in the forest when she stepped out of the safety of the vehicle and started towards the three-way junction. It whispered through her hair like particles of magic and before long carried voices towards her. One strangely melodic but very human, the other gruff and low; both curious enough to deter her away from her destination.

She carefully navigated the soft soil in the dark and sought out the shelter of trees until she was close enough to catch a glimpse. One last breath escaped her in a sharp puff. Then her hand clamped over her mouth to silence all other sounds, for in front of her stood what had to be two trolls. They were larger than the band of changelings she’d encountered, one blue with six eyes and four arms, the other one green and horned.

“It would be foolish to give up on him, of course, but-“

The green troll nodded solemnly and emitted a rough hum. “Mmh…Bular kill.”

All six eyes were immediately upon him. “I was going to say “But it will be a challenge”. However, I fear you’re absolutely right. This is madness! Madness, I tell you!” Four arms flew up into the air as if to underline his statement with one dramatic flourish.

But just as he was about to elaborate, his companion tilted up his nose and began to sniff. Automatically, Barbara took several steps backwards.

“Mmh…human,” the low voice huffed and she hurriedly broke into a jog.

In her panic, she tripped over roots and bumped against trees, but she didn’t stop running until she reached the swirling pool of the portal in the distance. If there were trolls in Arcadia, unafraid of being seen, if Bular was in Arcadia, she had somehow ruined the future.

Footsteps were growing louder behind her, firm and hard and inhuman.

Barbara swallowed and balled her fists at her side.

There was no other way. If she had ruined it, then she could fix it. Had to fix it. For Jim’s sake. Or she would never forgive herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- sorry this one's been a bit delayed, but I've been battling off a cold since Thursday so haven't been 100% (the  
> cold's still winning lol)  
> \- now WHY doesn't Strickler remember her? Or does he? Is he just acting?  
> \- next 2 chapters will have some much needed bonding and softness, promise :)  
> \- leave me your thoughts and comments? Thank you <3


	5. Let's Misbehave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- apologies for the huge delay between chapters - life has been a bit much lately plus this chapter is twice as long   
>  as the others. I hope you'll enjoy!And thanks for your lovely comments!!!

Barbara’s heart was thumping still when she collided with solid earth back in Paris, and for a moment all sounds and sights around her blurred. Doubling over against a nearby wall, she squeezed her eyes shut and sucked air into her lungs until everything slowly came back into focus.

Purpose drove her northwards to the Historical Council but progress was slow. Cloaked in the shadow of the night, Paris had come to life, coaxing even the weariest travellers out into the brightly lit streets. Heavy perfumes mingled with the scent of alcohol in the air and music was blaring out of every doorway. Swimming against the stream, Barbara bumped into countless bodies along the way. Some only lingered long enough to eye her curiously, clad in 21st century clothes as she was, while others ceased walking altogether and murmured a disapproving “Americain” under their breaths. Barbara tried not to give them too much attention and pushed on across the Seine and towards her destination. Yet when she got there, she found that there was no sign of life. The building was not illuminated and no-one answered her desperate knocking, even though she persisted for several minutes. Fatigued and overwrought by the reality she found herself facing, she finally slumped down onto the stone steps she’d been standing on.

Her life in Arcadia had been altered beyond recognition in the blink of an eye. Her son and his friends and everyone she knew were in grave danger because of her. And here in Paris she had nowhere to go. She looked out of place, she was out of money and her only point of contact was Strickler who might as well have disappeared into thin air.

Drawing her knees to her chest, she looked out over the serenely glistening water of the Seine, praying for an epiphany. But none came. Then something glowed warm and brightly from inside her bag. At first she thought it might be her phone and hurried to subdue it before it could draw any further unwanted attention, but when she reached inside, she found that the otherwise cool metal of the mysterious key had turned hot and alive. She cradled it gingerly in her palm and eyed it but could deduce no meaning from it until its warm glow started to stretch out across her skin. It was a strange sensation, slightly prickly, slightly tingly but not entirely unpleasant. And with a pop she disappeared, then with another pop she re-emerged, somewhere indoors where there were no people and no breeze and no cacophony of sound.

“Bar…Barbara?”

Well, there was one person.

Green eyes wide and mouth slightly agape, Walter Strickler was staring at her. Then he caught himself, for all disbelief and amazement vanished from his face and gave way to a harder expression. “I demand answers now! Where have you been? If you’re not a witch, which you’re not, then how is it possible to vanish and manifest upon a whim?”

He tilted his head heavenwards and sniffed but failed to locate any source of magic.

In the meantime, Barbara tried to get her bearings. Her body was still buzzing from the strange teleportation she had performed. “Are you really in a position to demand anything?”

His living room looked unchanged but the more she concentrated on him, the more she felt that something was wrong. His skin looked paler and underneath his eyes there were dark blue circles.

“How long have I been gone?”

“As if you do not know yourself,” he scoffed. “Or is time travel affecting you more than you thought?”

The tears she had so bravely been fending off earlier now came spilling out in all force. In vain, she dabbed at her eyes and wiped at her cheeks, but the flow would not stop.

Awkwardly, Walter cleared his throat and stepped into her blurry view. “Do you not have the handkerchief I gave you yesterday?”

She could feel his gaze wandering over her figure, from her trainers over her jeans to her top. It was as though he was too nervous to focus on any one spot at a time.

“I’ve had a change of clothes. And, honestly, I wasn’t too keen to keep anything that reminded me of you.”

Something like hurt flashed across his eyes, but he tilted his chin away and then snatched another handkerchief from his trouser pocket. “Permit me to lend you a second one nonetheless.”

It was as neat and tidy as the first had been and when their fingers connected over the white linen square, they both hurriedly averted their eyes. It was an unspoken truth that any prolonged contact would have obscured the lines of their relationship.

The silence between them was filled with raucous laughter and the noise of traffic that drifted up from the streets below.

“I’ve come to ask your help,” Barbara spoke at last. “And I’d like you to understand that that isn’t easy for me. If I could, I’d be anywhere but here. But you’re the only person who can help me. You know my predicament and I know yours. Perhaps we could find a deal that’s mutually beneficial.”

Putting this suggestion to him had left her winded, and she was grateful when he carefully put an arm around her and ushered her to his sofa.

“You propose a plausible arrangement. But let us acknowledge that there are limits to what can and what cannot be said. I cannot simply blab about hundreds of years of changeling history, because the life of one human is in danger. And likewise, you might want to refrain from divulging too many details about your life. It wouldn’t be wise to offer up such knowledge to the enemy.”

He was talking in such a calm and measured way that she could very well picture him in another time bent over a battle plan, advising one of the great conquerors of history. And she found that she still liked to watch him talk, even though the reality of their relationship saddened her.

“Sure, that makes sense. Remember how I told you that I fell into the portal one day? Well, my disappearing act was kind of the same thing. I was in that room,” she paused only briefly to let her gaze drift to the place in question, “and it was late and I felt desperate. Desperate to see my boy again…”

Walter’s expression remained neutral and composed, but she could tell by the twitching of his fingers that he was anything but unaffected.

“And then a voice spoke to me. It said my name and told me to open my hand. It placed a key into my palm and suddenly I was back in the 21st century.”

“A key?” His dark brows knitted together in a frown. “What key?”

Barbara sought out his eyes and held them a long time before unfurling her fingers. Perhaps she was trying to find clues that she could truly trust him with this. His gaze did not waver.

“This key.”

Together, they studied the small object in her palm which remained dull and unassuming.

"May I touch it?”

There was a hunger in his eyes that was disconcerting and automatically, Barbara closed her fingers around the key once more.

“Swear to me that you won’t break our contract already. Don’t steal it from me and go back on your word!”

She could see him struggle, as though human and troll were raging a terrible battle inside him. Where were his loyalties, she wondered. And how long could one live amongst humans without adopting a part of their nature?

“I promise, Barbara.”

His voice sounded worn when he at last spoke his mind and willing herself to believe him, she offered up the key once more. Instantly, his slender fingers stretched out towards it, but his skin had barely made contact with the metal when he let out a yelp and withdrew his hand.

“What’s the matter? What happened? Can’t you touch it?”

“N-no,” he bristled, annoyance lighting up his eyes in yellow. “It burns me.”

She sighed and tucked the key away in her pocket. “Does that mean anything to you? Any of this? Does it make sense?”

“It might indicate a magic of old. A legend…as most truths are. But we might be able to find some answers here. Now, what is it that you wanted to know?”

Barbara sighed heavily and let her hand drop into her lap once more. “I want to learn about trolls and changelings. You were right in warning me about the consequences of my actions. I have seen things in Arcadia, changes that happened over night. And I don’t know how to undo them, but I have always felt that to engage with anything it helps to understand it first.”

She could see that she had piqued his curiosity, but somehow he refrained from questioning her further.

“Let’s start with changelings. You said that for simplicity’s sake, you are half human, half troll. What is the not so simple explanation?”

“When we were young trolls we were snatched away by the Gumm-Gumms and altered to adopt a human guise. Likewise, our familiars – the humans whose form we have taken on – were abducted so that we may take their place.”

“That’s…horrible!” Barbara exclaimed, but Walter showed no traces of emotion.

“For us it is merely a fact of life. There are thousands of us, and we are skilled at what we do.”

He sounded proud, but she perceived an undertone of something else. Something darker, more bitter. Sharp like anger, yet somehow dulled down.

“Which is?” she frowned, fearing the answer.

“Information gathering, in a nutshell. Nobody is better equipped to observe the development of humankind.”

“But why can’t the trolls do it themselves?”

“Because daylight hurts them.”

She took a moment to process the information, understanding why she’d seen the two trolls at night and under the shelter of trees.

“So Gumm-Gumms…are they a specific breed of troll?”

“Well,” he hummed, spreading his hands in a diplomatic gesture, “originally, Gumm-Gumms belonged to a barbaric tribe of trolls. But now the term is used to describe those trolls who follow Gunmar’s vision.”

“Gunmar?” Barbara interrupted him. “Who is Bular then?”

A strange emotion appeared to overcome Walter. A little like fear, a little like frustration. His eyes darted around the flat as though he thought that somebody might be watching them. Then, at last, he answered. “Gunmar’s son. But you shouldn’t concern yourself with that.” And before she could protest, he continued. “Gunmar believes that trolls should be free to walk the earth, but for that purpose he must devour humankind.”

“But he can’t because daylight is stopping him?”

“That and other trolls.”

“Other trolls?” she questioned. “So not all trolls are bad?”

“Are all humans evil?”

“Fair point,” she lifted up her hand in defeat. “But let me get this straight. There are Gumm-Gumms,” she paused to reach for a glass on the table, “and there are other trolls,” again she paused, this time to line up a book on the other side of the glass, “and then there are changelings.” She carefully picked up a small flower vase and placed it between them.

“And humans,” Walter nodded, but Barbara shook her head dismissively.

“We’ll forget about them for a second. So when the Gumm-Gumms created you, what did the rest of the trolls say? Surely someone must have realised how wrong this all is.”

Walter’s mouth twitched into a humourless smile while his eyes continued to smoulder angrily. “The trolls think we’re an abomination. That we’re impure. They do not care whether we live or die. In fact, I’d wager they’d rather see us killed.”

“But you didn’t ask for this. You didn’t ask to me snatched away as babies, taken from your parents and morphed into something else. You didn’t ask to become spies and serve the Gumm-Gumms.”

“Barbara, we are talking about trollkind here. A human perspective is hardly relevant.”

It was the weariness in his voice that got to her in the end. The resignation of a man who had spent hundreds of years in the same existence. She got to her feet sharply and turned her back to him, so he wouldn’t see the tears that stung in her eyes.

“It isn’t right,” she said quietly. “It isn’t fair.”

Another hard, unemotional laugh echoed from behind her. “Life isn’t fair, Barbara. But you do what you have to survive.”

“But you said there’s thousands of you. What if you rose up together?”

She tilted her body enough to find his eyes but already knew how feeble her suggestion must have sounded to him.

“Nobody is waiting for us. Nobody wants us, Barbara.” His tone was cutting. “At least when Gunmar regains power we will have our place in the world.”

_And you believe that?_ She wanted to ask but didn’t. Because she knew that in their desperation the changelings would believe anything. History, after all, was littered with similar examples of a human nature.

Instead, she lowered herself back onto the sofa by his side and really looked at him. She studied the traces the years had left on his face and wondered how often he had escaped death, how often he had cheated or killed to survive.

“And what do you want?” she, at last, asked gently. “Irrespective of Gumm-Gumms or trolls or humans.”

Walter’s brows drew together and her question shone in his eyes for several minutes. His shoulders tensed, he drew his hands together.

“Me?” His voice was quiet and all of a sudden he looked small, dismantled.

“Yes, just you.”

It seemed a concept he couldn’t quite process.

“I…I’d like some dignity.” His forehead creased further as he mulled over his answer. “I’d like peace.”

Something stirred in her heart that she had no name for yet. But it beckoned her to let the fragile silence continue, to simply let them be. It was the first time in a long while that Barbara felt she could breathe.

Then, abruptly, Walter rose to his feet.

“I know of a place that might shed some light on your mysterious key,” he said, all emotion removed from his voice once more. “Come. It’s a little bit of a journey.”

Although his sudden detachedness had left her feeling deflated, Barbara did not argue and followed him wordlessly out of the apartment and into the streets. The air had turned colder and already she was beginning to shiver. Seeking to distract her mind, she watched him as he paced up and down on the pavement, trying to flag down a taxi. His movements were impatient and sharp, and she wondered what had prompted his anger to flare up so acutely. After a moment, however, he seemed to catch himself and when another full taxi passed them by, he breathed out a sigh and walked back to her.

“I’m sorry, Barbara. I seem to have forgotten my manners.”

Gingerly, he peeled himself out of his coat and carefully placed it around her shoulders as if testing first whether his touch was welcome. In return, she offered him a reassuring smile.

“It simply doesn’t do to dream of such things. One inevitably sets oneself up for failure. And a changeling who is weak is already dead.”

“I’m sorry, too, Walter. Not for what I said. I stand by it. But for stirring up unwanted thoughts. Let’s focus on my turmoil for a while, shall we?”

She liked how he could soften at the touch of a hand or a carefully chosen, considerate word. She liked the warmth of his jacket against her. The way it smelled of him. But considerations like these were dangerous, and she could not afford to become blinded by his charm again. So she was grateful when a taxi finally pulled up next to them and she could steer her thoughts to safer shores. 

While she slipped into the vehicle, Walter remained outside a moment longer, muttering directions to the driver in front.

“So where exactly are we going?” she asked once he had joined her.

“Montmartre, Sacre Coeur. More I cannot say just yet.” But his eyes twinkled warmly, and so she chose to believe that he had no ulterior motive.

For at least half an hour the little automobile chugged along, the street lanterns outside projecting light and shadow onto their faces. Neither one of them spoke until they reached their destination. The driver let them disembark at the foot of the famous steps and she accepted Walter’s hand to support her. It seemed to her that Paris was never quiet, no matter the hour or the district. Even here people were milling about or frolicking shamelessly in shady alleyways.

“Follow me, Barbara, and stay close. At this time Montmartre is the playground of revellers and thieves and we’d do better not to cross paths with either of them.”

He had let go of her hand but now offered his arm which she willingly took after fully slipping into his coat. The stars were twinkling down on them and the sky was clear, granting a breath-taking view of the city the higher they climbed. Giving Walter’s arm a light pat with her hand, Barbara paused to catch her breath and to indulge her curiosity, if only for a few seconds.

“Stunning,” she smiled.

She was vaguely aware of his eyes skimming over her profile, though she couldn’t say what he made of her in that moment.

“Quite,” he agreed eventually. “A timeless city that has seen the world change around it.”

“As have you,” Barbara voiced, carefully leaning more against him.

He showed no indication of disliking her sudden closeness.

“Yes.” Melancholy and awe alike filled his voice but then he turned to her and smiled. And it was true and gentle and warm. “And yet there are some matters your lifetime worth of experiences cannot prepare you for.”

Barbara chuckled and tucked him even closer.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said and began walking up towards Sacre Coeur once more.

The white basilica with its splendid cupolas was looming large before them, the details of frescoes on its walls even more remarkable the nearer they got. Walter permitted her a few precious seconds to stare and admire before he led her down the side of the building to an unassuming archway. He glanced around once or twice and at last, relinquishing her arm, he pressed his hand to the Travertine stone and spoke in a peculiar tongue she had never heard before. The many consonants rolled and hissed in his mouth and looking up, Barbara found him to be wonderfully commanding.

She thought it was the wind at first that was brushing past them. But suddenly she realised that it was something else, creaking and groaning nearby. Faintly, like stone grating against stone. Then, to her utter astonishment an opening appeared before them, not wide or tall but large enough to permit them entry. Once inside, the wall behind them closed again.

“Whoa…what is this place?” she whispered, seeking the comfort of Walter’s presence in the dark.

“A site of ancient magic. I was hoping that your key might respond. It’d be a hint at least as to its origin.”

Blindly, she felt in her pocket for the cool metal, pulled it out and let it rest in her palm. She wasn’t certain what he had meant by it responding but surmised that she would probably notice. Perhaps it would turn warm again or glow. But as it was, it remained an ordinary key.

“Come, let us wander further.”

Gingerly, she slipped her hand into his and followed him down the corridor. The darkness around them disguised his surreptitious glances of amazement, as though he couldn’t quite believe that she was willingly touching him. In the distance lights twinkled warmly. They weren’t strong enough to light up the labyrinthine path they had entered but still cast the walls in an array of colours. Blues and purples and greens. Rich amber and red.

“What are they?” she asked, fearing that if she spoke in anything above a whisper the fragile atmosphere might shatter.

“Crystals. Magic crystals. They offer strength and guidance.”

Barbara stopped in her tracks, her face a kaleidoscope of colours. “They’re so beautiful.”

Walter remained silent but his eyes contained a tenderness that suggested he was in agreement. As to where his focus lay, well, that was debatable.

“Can I touch?”

He chuckled at that before drawing up his shoulders and nodding. “You humans…always so tempted.”

Barbara shot him a smile. “As if you weren’t. You’re a historian for goodness sake.”

Her fingers inched closer to the sharp edge of a purple crystal whose surface winked at her invitingly. She captured her bottom lip between her teeth, sucked in her breath and slowly made contact. The crystal hummed warmly against her skin.

“So you can feel the magic?”

“And smell it,” he said, setting off yet again.

“And what does it smell like?” she asked, trailing after him.

They were nearing the end of the corridor where well-worn steps of stone spiralled upwards in a crystal-lined staircase. Walter was still considering his answer.

“Like power…or like wisdom.”

“Ah…sure…” she nodded meaningfully then burst into laughter when she caught his eye.

“Are you poking fun at me?” He had paused at the foot of the staircase and was visibly struggling to appear stern.

“Only a tiny bit,” she winked and brushed past him. “Keep up, keep up. We have a mystery to solve.”

His gentle laughter followed her as she ascended the staircase and emerged in a round space. Five alcoves lined the walls here, each of them covered with banners of silk. And there were crystals, too, solely on the ceiling, sharp and pointy like stalactites, their light but a faint imitation of the ones they had encountered below.

“The druid’s chamber,” Walter explained, running his hands lovingly over the stone plate that stood like an altar at the heart of the room. And when she joined him she could see delicate carvings like runes on it.

She had just reached out to trace them when Walter whipped his head around so suddenly that she froze. His nostrils flared.

“We are not alone,” he muttered, his eyes tempestuous in the dimly lit space. 

Without warning there was a flash of green light and he had transformed into something nearly beyond recognition. Where vulnerable flesh had been there now was stone, green and marked by battles fought. His eyes were narrowed to yellow, gleaming slits and white pointy teeth were protruding from his closed mouth. There were horns and knives and too many things to focus on at once. But even so Barbara thought that it was strange how his cape was torn and tattered.

He bounded gracefully to the top of the staircase, sniffed the air and emitted a disgruntled growl.

“Hide!” he ordered at last in a gruff and low voice and when she didn’t move, he wrapped an arm around her and dragged her into one of the alcoves.

It wasn’t long after that footsteps could be heard.

“We are almost there, master. Bular cannot be mistaken.”

“Be silent now, impure.”

With her back pressed against the stone wall and her front pressed against Walter’s chest, Barbara tried to discern the two figures that had entered the chamber. She was almost certain that one of them sounded familiar.

All noise withered away, save for a peculiar scratching and a light hum. Then suddenly a flash of light and an almighty creak that shook the ground underneath their feet. Automatically, Walter shifted closer to her, his arms circling around her waist to hold her still. Light kept flooding into the chamber still and with her gaze directed to the floor, Barbara could see the shadow of one figure moving closer towards its source. Where the owner of the familiar voice was she did not know. But when Walter stiffened all of a sudden she understood that they were close. Too close.

She imagined the changeling sniffing the air, sensing them.

Stone patted softly against stone. He was drawing nearer.

“What have we here?” the voice hissed.

Claws started to peel aside the banner that was hiding them. Barbara’s hand furled against Walter’s chest, the other one was squeezing the key so tightly it left its imprint against her skin.

For one brief second she was staring at Jacques and he was staring at her in return. Then a hum of syllables swelled up, bright light flashed around them once more and the changeling dropped to the ground, his eyes empty and unseeing.

“I said silence, impure. Your work here is done.”

She knew she was trembling, desperately and uncontrollably. But she could not look away from Jacques who lay disposed and discarded on the ground in front of them. Her breath hitched and shuddered and even though Walter was trying his best to calm her by running his hand up and down her spine, there was an anger inside her that would not be soothed.

Pressing herself further against him, she slipped the key into her pocket and used her free hand to pull aside the banner. The northern most alcove had opened to reveal another chamber. A lone man was pacing up and down, grey-haired and feeble. She could see orbs of light floating in the air, showing scenes of wars yet to come, of treaties being made. There were orbs showing trolls and orbs showing changelings and once, too fleeting to be true, the face of her son in the swirling depths.

“Jim?” she whispered, the one word enough to draw the attention they’d been trying to dodge.

The elderly man turned around and Barbara desperately stifled another gasp, because his eyes were pitch black, iris and pupil alike. Like a demonic possession found in a cheap horror movie.

“Intruder!” he hissed, lifting his hand.

But Walter was quicker. With one swift movement he had hoisted her up in his arms and darted across the room to the staircase. Something crashed behind him and broke, then the voice bellowed anew.

“Do you not honour your God, impure?”

But Walter kept running without looking back, breezing through pathways and, at last, bursting through the archway and out into the night air of Paris. She could feel his legs tensing against the earth and suddenly he leapt up, his torn cloak giving way to large, wide wings. They beat once or twice before he yelped in pain and sent them tumbling downwards again, cradling her as they fell.

“I’m sorry, Barbara,” he huffed, his chest of stone rising and falling in puffs of agony, for his wings were broken, mangled and torn just as his cape had been. "I shouldn't have brought you here."

Footsteps were growing louder behind them, menacing. She could feel those black eyes burning her skin. 

There was only one hope left. Barbara dug in her pocket and took out the key once more. She squeezed her eyes shut and held Walter close, praying that they might be whisked away to safety. And to her amazement the key began to glow.


	6. Could It Be You?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- thank you for your continued support :)  
> \- next update might be slow again, as I'm currently back home visiting friends and family

_Pop._

With one arm slung around Walter’s neck, Barbara emerged inside the by now familiar living room. Everything was quiet and still, save for their frantic breathing. The space around illuminated solely by the light of the moon and that of the lanterns outside. In the darkness, Walter’s eyes were shining brightly like those of a cat.

“I don’t think he can follow us here,” she whispered, stepping away only as far as the length of an arm. She touched his shoulders carefully. “Are you alright?”

But Walter failed to answer. He was staring past her, a look of haunted horror in his eyes. It was as though he had just seen a ghost.

“Walter?” she tried again, the top of her hands skirting just underneath the pointy edges of his collar of knives. His broken wings had disappeared and been replaced by the torn cape once more.

“No, he cannot follow us. At least not with immediate effect.”

“Do you know who he is?”

She sought out his eyes with her own to make him focus, because the dilated state of his pupils told her that his body had gone into shock.

“No…yes…although it cannot be. Though perhaps…?” He huffed in annoyance and in a flash of green light changed into his human form. “I must apologise to you once more, Barbara. I should not have brought you there and placed you in danger.”

“But you were only trying to help…right?” Although guilt coated her tongue, she could not prevent the question from slipping out.

“I thought perhaps the altar would yield some answers. But I should have gone alone. There was always a chance that another changeling might be there, too. Now we know nothing and are more at risk than we were before.”

“But we’re alive!” she insisted and wrapped her arms around his neck to give him a quick squeeze. And he was warm and soft and real. “I’m so glad the key worked.”

Tentatively, one hand came to rest on her back. It stayed there, still and uncertain, sometimes drifting up between her shoulder blades, sometimes down to steady her.

“You’re trembling,” he murmured, his breath grazing the shell of her ear.

“Am I?” Laughter caught in her throat and emerged in a breathy dissonance of sound. “I guess my mind’s still trying to catch up.”

Gently, he disentangled himself, hesitated, then lightly brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “Allow me to make you some tea to calm your nerves.”

She snatched her glasses off her nose and cleaned them on her top, but her hands shook so badly it took three attempts to get it done. There was sadness in her eyes when she looked back up at Walter again.

“I appreciate the gesture, but I can’t trust you. Not yet. And definitely not around drinks.”

Grooves appeared in either corner of his mouth. He pocketed his hands. “Of course, I understand.”

He stepped away and flipped the switch that turned on the main light in the living room. And, blinking, Barbara found that twilight suited them better.

“Let me show you into the kitchen then.”

She fixed her eyes onto the straight line of his spine and followed him through a previously unused corridor to the very back of the house. The kitchen was crammed and small, consisting only of a well-used cooker, a little table and a cabinet of oak wood. All utensils, crockery and cutlery had been lined up on the sole shelf that hung on the wall.

“Please help yourself to the kettle. You’ll find the tap outside and tea leaves in the pot over there.”

She followed his instructions, retrieved the water from the backstairs that must have been the servants’ entrance once and put the copper kettle on the cooker. Together, they stood in silence until a sharp whistle rang out and she could pour them each a cup. The leaves she stuffed into the strainer were rich in fragrance with just the slightest hint of fruits and spices.

“So who do you think that man was?” she asked, hoping to bridge the uncomfortable quiet.

Walter steepled his fingers and stared pensively into the swirling depth of the tea. “The man? Mmh…just a human.”

“But obviously there’s more to it. Otherwise he wouldn’t have referred to himself as your God.”

“Quite right. Janus, I think – we call ourselves the Janus Order - possessing a human shell. Why, I do not know. But if Bular is harnessing the power of Gods no-one will be safe.”

On that dire note, he lifted his cup to his lips and took a small, measured mouthful. Barbara followed suit but stopped short of taking her first sip.

“What could Janus offer Bular then? Immunity against daylight?”

He considered his answer carefully. “Access to his father or perhaps something beyond that.” He pinched his lips as though stopping himself from revealing more.

“Are you hinting at those weird orbs?”

Walter balanced saucer and cup precariously on the palm of his hand. “Ah, so you did notice them.”

Her annoyance at his throwaway comment manifested itself in the drawing together of her eyebrows into what could only be described as a tempestuous expression. “I do have eyes, Walter.”

“Oh no no no,” he chuckled, lifting his free hand up to placate her, though his superior tone only served to fan her ire. “I did not make myself clear. I was merely expressing doubts that humans could see them at all.”

She rolled her eyes and muttered snappily into her tea, “Well, now you know. I could see them just fine and I bet they meant more to me than they did to you.”

Childishly, she revelled in the puzzlement that took hold of his features.

“Janus was said to preside over the beginning and ending of conflict, of war and peace. I’m assuming you’re saying that all those things will come true?”

The snapshot of Jim’s face flashed before her eyes and with unsteady hands she set the cup of tea down onto the table that stood between them. It occurred to her then that none of its taste had registered and how now there were only remnants of bitter notes on her tongue.

“I don’t know about everything.”

With concern blooming on his face, Walter abandoned his cup also and rounded the table to carefully touch her arm. “You saw something that frightened you?”

She found her own reflection in the depth of his green eyes and looked at it until all lines and angles that formed her blurred into nothingness.

“I thought I saw…I thought I saw my son.”

“Your son?” Walter's expression sobered. “Let’s sit back down on the sofa, shall we?”

His palm against the small of her back was a comfort and so she allowed herself to be shepherded back into the living room. All the while she thought about Jim and his peculiar behaviour and wondered if this was how it could be like to have a partner to share the challenging moments with. A dangerous thought, because self-pity had never been a good colour on her. Though, perhaps, it wasn’t so bad to yearn for companionship?

“I honestly have no idea why he would appear. He had nothing to do with any of the other scenarios.”

Together, they sank down on the sofa.

“Maybe he only appeared to me, because I was looking into it? Maybe to Janus he didn’t appear? Or to you?”

Walter folded his arms over his chest. “Unfortunately, I believe I saw him too. A young boy with black hair and blue eyes wearing odd clothes not dissimilar to yours.”

Nervously, she brushed her hands over her jeans. “He’s changed, Walter. I know you asked me not to go into too much detail and I won’t. But he’s changed. One day he was the sweet, lovely, bright young man that I’ve always known. The next I didn’t recognise him. I thought at first that maybe it was just hormones. We’re all a little bit up and down at that age, aren’t we?” She chuckled, but the sound was so feeble that it dissipated almost instantly. “But then so many others things were different. Now he shows up in that orb. What if I have messed everything up? What if I’ve messed _him_ up?”

Tired of crying, she squeezed her eyes shut and put one hand over her mouth to stifle all sound. It was a pleasant surprise when Walter gently took her other hand in his.

“Barbara, you didn’t do any of this with malicious intent.”

“And that makes it alright?” she hiccuped a raw sob. “I am his mother. I am an adult. I should know by now that every action has a consequence.”

His smile was compassionate and kind; it made him seem younger than he was. “And from what you have told me you have. You’ve been considering every consequence of every action for years. Whatever is happening with your son, you will find an explanation. And you will ensure that he is safe and cared for.”

His thumb rubbed soothingly over her knuckles and she felt a foolish desire arise within her to collapse against him, to rest her head against his chest until the rest of the world had fallen into place once more.

“And how can you be so sure?” she muttered instead, earning a lopsided smile that made her heart flutter in a dangerous, exhilarating way.

“Because it’s obvious how much you love him. And because you have shown kindness to me when I’ve done nothing to earn it.”

Whatever surprise she wanted to express was cut short by a knock on the door that startled them both apart as though they had been engaging in indecency. Walter’s eyes darted back and forth and the wheels in his head were visibly turning.

“You are not going to like this, Barbara, but you’ll have to go back into the room.”

She frowned, her own glances now straying towards the place that had been her prison not so long ago.

“No way.”

She stubbornly crossed her arms and he bristled.

“We don’t have time for that. Whoever is at the door is not going to like you. Please. For your own sake and that of your son, hide!”

His honest desperation convinced her in the end and although she still didn’t like it, she beat a hasty retreat into the side room. Crouched by the door, she tried to listen as the events unfolded.

“I see the fleshling has been found again.”

It was Jean’s voice and yet not hers at the same time. The apathetic, slow pace of her speech was prickling at the edges with some unidentifiable emotion that made the hairs on her neck stand on end.

“I promised Bular I would deliver her.”

The female cackled, a sound that screeched high-pitched and terrible, loud enough to shatter glass. “You word is meaningless, Stricklander. You have forfeited your place as you have your wings.”

“But that is not why you’re here, is it? My affairs do not concern you.”

Barbara could hear their footsteps beating a pattern and when squinting through the keyhole she saw that they were circling each other, both in their human form.

“I want to know what happened to Robespierre.”

Walter’s neutral expression was carefully maintained.

“As Bular’s newly appointed right-hand man he has probably been tasked with something of utmost importance. Or he has outlived his purpose.”

Another dreadful screech, a flash of light and suddenly Jean pounced, swinging the hefty body of her rear forward to knock him off-guard, but Walter ducked with surprising speed.

“He never saw you, Weber. You did not interest him.”

Her screams swelled in volume and she attacked again and again in rapid succession. Another flash of light and now Walter had changed too.

“Stop wasting your energy and your time. Our only purpose is the mission.”

This time, he could not evade her and their bodies crashed into each other amidst a thunder of sound. Fumbling blindly around the room, Barbara at last located the heavy comfort of a paper-weight and cradling it in her hand hurled herself towards both of them. Unfortunately, she tripped over something thin and spindly along the way and fell before she could administer any help. Worse yet, the paperweight connected with one heavy thud with Walter’s head, knocking him momentarily unconscious. Jean, on the other hand, was on her feet in a flash and circled her with hunger in her eyes.

“Ah, the human does have spunk. Your flesh will taste divine.”

Her teeth were glistening white and menacingly and in the light her body appeared even more terrifying than before. Ducking, Barbara sank to her knees. She could feel herself shake rather pitifully. With her face hidden behind her hands, she only heard a sharp hiss and then flinched as something wet and sticky hit her head, then pelted her torso. Instinctively, her hand flew to it to investigate, but she could not make much sense. To her mind it seemed as though she had become cocooned in the web of a spider and the thought frightened and paralysed her at once. Like a fly who ceases to struggle in the end, Barbara abandoned all fight and trembling awaited her terrible fate.

It was only her luck that Jean took so long to intimidate her. She could hear the two changelings collide once more, tussling around her, crashing into furniture. Then a deafening crunch and finally a frightful silence.

“Walter?” she whispered and her voice quivered pathetically.

“I’m here. Are you alright?”

His cold, hard hands gripped her arms, then something even cooler slipped along her skin and tore the webs away. When she dared to look she could see that he had used his knives to free her. Jean’s unconscious body was lying discarded in a corner.

“I’ve been better.” She chuckled nervously and without thinking rushed into his waiting arms. “But you were right. I should have just stayed in the room.”

“You were trying to help,” he replied, though it sounded more like a deep exhalation of relief. “But there really was no cause for concern. Changeling siblings will often brawl like this.”

“Brawl?” Barbara questioned incredulously. “She was ready to kill you. She will once she learns the truth about Jacques.”

Walter sighed deeply and swiftly assumed his human form once more. “She shouldn’t have been foolish enough to fall in love. Changelings are bred for only one purpose. We do not form relationships. We do not even have friendships. Everyone is striving for their own gain.”

He spoke about it so matter-of-factly that Barbara instantly felt a stab of pain. Never to have questioned the confines of one’s existence seemed to her a terrible waste. Though perhaps the alternative – a life filled with what might have been – was more excruciating still.

“Now, permit me a moment to deal with Jean. Please feel free to use the bathroom to your right to freshen up.”

Automatically, one hand flew up to her head to self-consciously capture her hair. A few strands were sticking together, but far more damage had been done to her top whose colour was almost indistinguishable under the remains of white web.

“Yeah, I could definitely do with that. Any chance you have a shirt I could borrow?”

Walter’s eyes drifted from her face to her neck and further down to her shoulders. He blinked, swallowed. His Adam’s apple bobbed. Gradually a splash of red extended across his pale, high cheeks.

Perplexed, Barbara frowned.

“I could see if Madame Vasily is still awake. She might have something more appropriate.”

She didn’t mean to laugh, but his chivalry and peculiar sense of propriety was as surprising as it was endearing. Not to mention that her belly filled with treacherous warmth at the thought that the mere idea of her shoulders alone could leave him so flummoxed.

“Don’t worry, Walt. Your shirt will do just fine to protect my modesty.”

And when she winked, it was as though all blood drained from his body and flooded directly to his head. She left him there as not to embarrass him and sought out the bathroom to which she’d been pointed. It was a tasteful space, pristinely tiled and neatly separated into two compartments, one for the toilet and one for sink and the luxurious clawfoot tub. Absent-mindedly, she ran her hands over golden fixtures and satisfied her curiosity by smelling soaps and shampoos.

From the other side of the door only dull thuds and scrapes hinted at Walter’s endeavour to subdue Jean for the evening. Barbara found that the less she thought about it the better. The evening had been so full of events and there was only so much her brain could process at once. Instead, she removed her top and washed herself until she felt comfortable and clean again. Her hair wasn’t so easy to salvage and when Walter knocked on the door, she deemed it a lost cause and moved on.

“As you requested,” he mumbled. He hadn’t pressed down the handle or made any other attempts to step inside.

She, too, only opened the door an inch and stuck out her hand until her fingers could close around the fabric of the shirt.

“Thank you.”

She shut it again and hastily put it on. It smelled of fresh strong soap and was properly starched.

After sneaking a quick glance at herself in the mirror, she carefully made sure to do up every button before she joined Walter in the living room once more. No traces were left to suggest that another person had ever been there, let alone that a struggle had occurred. Only one of the lamps had been knocked out for good, casting the living room in a dimmer light.

“Will you be staying overnight?” Walter asked carefully after a second had passed. They hadn’t moved much beyond the proximity of the bathroom, and she noticed how he proceeded to nervously tap the tips of his fingers together. His eyes never strayed lower than her nose. It was as though he was very careful not to send the wrong message.

“I don’t like it, but I think I will. The thought of Jim coming home and finding me gone. After how things were left. After everything I saw…” She sighed, and it was heavy enough to turn the air thick between them. “But I need to clear my head. I want to have a direction, a plan when I return. Otherwise I’ll constantly worry that I’ll say or do something that’ll make things worse.”

“I understand. Permit me just a minute to prepare a room for you then?”

“I take it Jean has been banished to the prison cell?” she asked, playfully pointing towards the chamber that had housed her not so long ago.

Walter grimaced and chortled and spreads his hands in confirmation.

“Well sure. But before you go, I want to take a look at those wings.”

“W-wings?” His voice caught nervously in his throat and his eyes found hers only for the barest of seconds.

“Yes, dummy. Your wings. You didn’t think I’d forgotten, did you? Did I mention I’m a doctor?”

Whatever he was trying to say died amidst another bout of nervous laughter. So she took the initiative and guided him gently back to the sofa.

“Doesn’t it pain you in your human form?”

She drummed her fingers lightly against his arm, hoping to prompt him to change.

With something akin to shyness, he rolled his shoulders. “I suppose you could say that there is a dull…ache. But that can be contained as long as they are folded away.”

“Then I promise I won’t have you stretch them out for long.”

His mouth fell open while his brows drew together, and it seemed as though he wanted to point something out against which he decided in the end. Perhaps her set expression was enough to deter him.

There was a brief flash of green as he assumed his troll form, and Barbara noticed as she studied him, how easily she’d got used to his appearance. Irrespective of horns or fangs, he was still the same complicated, ambiguous Walter.

Awkwardly, he pivoted his body on the sofa until he had enough space to spread his left wing. It hovered shakily in the air above the coffee table and at full stretch might have grazed the door behind which Jean was now confined. They were majestic, she thought, which made the damage that had been done to them even worse. The stone that extended between the limb bones which ran vertically from top to bottom was cracked or torn, sometimes missing large chunks as though a giant claw had raked through it.

“Was it Bular? Did he do this?” she asked quietly, running her fingers lightly along the edges of his wing.

Walter huffed, his breathing made heavy by the pain he was suffering. “I was tasked with capturing you. And when I appeared empty-handed…”

Barbara’s lips set in a thin, hard line, but her touch remained gentle and careful.

“What a brute.”

Rising from the sofa, she moved until she could palm the very tip of his wing and using her other hand coaxed it softly to flex. Walter groaned and instinctively withdrew from her reach.

“I’m sorry. I just needed to see how movement impacts on the injury. Sometimes it’s more detrimental to hold it still. It could set wrongly for example. But the tear you’ve suffered only grows every time. It’s safer to keep them folded. You’re right.”

She assisted him in tucking them away, allowing one hand to linger on his lower back. Silence enveloped them, warm and comforting. The twilight around them only illuminated parts of his profile and left the rest in the dark.

Her fingers brushed soothingly over his stone skin. Walter huffed anew, but it was softer, lighter. Perhaps a sigh, perhaps a brief rush of air. His spine curled, pushing his back further into her palm. And it felt like a confession, like something much too fragile for words. So both of them lingered in the quiet that had no name.

Barbara’s fingertips inched higher, tracing the vertebrae that would have made up his human form, discovering along the way the spots most amenable to him. The hints were there in his voice, in the small grunts that dissolved into tender sighs, or in the involuntary twitching of his wings.

The intimacy of the moment slowly dawned on her and with it blurry ideas of longings long put away. Like the delicate thrill of a first kiss, the slightest brush of lips against lips. Like the very own dynamic of exploration, the salt, the honey, the moving and yielding.

“Walter,” she murmured and blinking came to a moment later. “Time so sleep.”

She gave his left horn a playful tweak and stood up, banning all further considerations from her mind.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _ Jeanne Weber was a real person who did atrocious things  
> \- Barbara is struggling with feeling drawn to Walter but knowing what he did in the past


	7. You Do Something To Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- as always, thanks for your support :) Leave me a review and make my day? <3

When Barbara awoke the following morning, the sun was casting a bright, wide beam across her face which made her blink when she first attempted to open her eyes. She shifted a little bit higher on the mattress and registered with every slight shimmy the mementos from last night’s adventure. A dull ache in these bones, a knot in those muscle groups, a sharp sting on her left thigh that upon further investigation turned out to be a shallow laceration, the matted down heaviness of her usually so shiny red locks. All wrapped in a foggy cocoon of other-ness, quite literally suspended between time and space.

Barbara reached blindly for her glasses and stifled a yawn while the room around her came into view. It wasn’t much bigger than the one she’d been imprisoned in, but the window and the blue sky outside, the cream-coloured walls and decorative touches made it feel more welcoming than suffocating. From behind the door she could hear the faint tinkle of a melody. Something upbeat yet soft, swinging gently and stroking the air like butterfly wings. The steady beat of a bass, the gentle whisper of a snare drum, contrasted by the bright overtones of trumpet and brass. It put a smile on her face and helped ease her weary body out of the bed.

Before she opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, she made sure that the collar of her shirt was turned up and glimpses of skin were sufficiently covered. As tempting as it was to tease and prod Walter’s sense of propriety, she figured he probably deserved a break, too. And there were other problems to focus on. So instead she self-consciously patted her hair and followed the sound of the music into the living room where Walter was hunched over the table. He, too, was only in his shirtsleeves, his pale, sinewy forearms bared. His feet were tapping along to the rhythm of the music and his hips swayed from side to side in a way that immediately made all greeting stick in her throat. She cocked her head and watched him move with a smile ever growing on her face. It was almost a shame when he seemed to sense her presence and, uttering a startled “Ah!” whirled around to face her.

Instantly, Barbara lifted her hands, though whether this was in a gesture of peace or to hide her laughter was debatable. The longer they remained locked in their silent stalemate, the more flustered he became, reaching back to scratch the nape of his neck which was acquiring a rather healthy red hue.

“Good morning, you seem in a good mood.”

Walter’s smile was endearingly lopsided and fluttered nervously on his lips. “Yes, I suppose you could say that. I daresay I have uncovered something rather remarkable.”

Barbara’s eyes strayed over his thick black hair which was delightfully dishevelled as though he’d raked his hand through it repeatedly. There were traces of tiredness everywhere on his face – perhaps he had spent most of the night researching – but they were noticeable only upon second glance, because his enthusiasm and excitement were so genuine they nearly eclipsed them entirely.

“But first some breakfast? When I saw Jean out earlier I stopped by a local bakery and bought some pastries. I thought you might want to prepare your own tea again?”

“Sure,” she nodded and squeezed his arm.

Once in the kitchen, they worked silently side by side with a calm routine that was surprising although unacknowledged by them both.

“So you let Jean go? Just like that?” She couldn’t hold her tongue about it, not when it kept niggling away at her.

Walter, sensing this, paused in his tracks and met her eyes in gentle reassurance. “I couldn’t keep her here indefinitely. She needs to learn about Jacques. Whatever she’ll do then is likely what she would’ve done anyhow. And I’d rather her not being near you when that happens.”

The message behind the gesture touched something inside her, but trepidation still lingered uncomfortably at the pit of her stomach.

“Thank you.” She reached across to silence the whistling kettle and poured the hot water into their respective cups. “But if I find out they’re just pretty words, I’ll kick your butt to the seventh cycle of hell.”

To emphasise her threat, she leaned across the table to tweak his left ear and then returned all equipment to its previous position. Walter’s chuckle was quiet and rueful, but there was a noticeable change in his posture, and she was pleased to have settled the mood once more.

“Come on then,” she said, nudging him gently which almost caused her tea cup to fall off its saucer. Grimacing, she hurriedly set it straight again. “Show me what you’ve found. If it warrants a boogie in broad daylight it has to be good, right?”

Embarrassment splashed a shade of red on his face and so swiftly ducking his head, Walter collected his own drink and hastily left the kitchen.

Upon their return to the living room she noticed scattered piles of books that had previously escaped her attention. The shelves they had been snatched from now bore gaping holes like wounds torn in the heat of battle.

“Did you find something about the key in there?” she asked as she rounded the table to plop down on her side of the sofa.

Walter, who had already taken a seat, crossed his legs and balanced his cup on his knee. He took a sip of the murky liquid, pulled a face and then sought out her eyes. “I believe I have discovered its origin, it’s…potential origin I should say. Naturally, a powerful item such as that is entangled in many myths and legends.”

With one hand still holding the tea cup, he used his other to retrieve a small paper package from the edge of the table. From it drifted the warm, sweet scent of butter and chocolate which made her stomach rumble and without much prompting, she stole one of the two pastries contained within. It was nearly torturous to eyeball it and smell it for traces of anything untoward when all she really wanted to do was cram it into her mouth in one go.

Respectfully allowing her the time to do so, Walter continued, “It’s the _clavis mobilitatis_ , a key that grants the holder the freedom to move without restriction and an ancient artefact said to have been stolen from the Gods. Some say that it was Hekate’s to begin with, for She is mother of all crossroads. Others say that it belongs to Janus, as only He sees the past and the future.”

“Well,” Barbara ventured, giving in to her hunger and tearing off a large piece of pastry, “if it’s really His, He’ll have seen me use it. And my guess is, He probably won’t like that. So wouldn’t He have showed up by now?”

The layers of butter and dough crumbled into delicious flakes on her tongue, and it took all her restraint to stifle the moan of ecstasy that was tickling the back of her throat.

“Perhaps, perhaps not.” Walter was taking a more measured approach to the consumption of his breakfast. “It is difficult to predict how a God might react. Just like humans, trolls or changelings, Their personalities will dictate Their tactics.”

“But?” Barbara pressed, her mouth full.

Smoothly, Walter rose to his feet and deposited his half-empty teacup in one of the gaps on the shelf. “But there is a possibility to direct our questions towards the source itself.”

From underneath the pile of books, he unearthed a thick, leather-bound tome whose spine creaked dangerously when he set it down before her. The pages that were facing upwards were yellowed and smudged but filled with the most extraordinary drawings. A woman with long-flowing dark hair and three faces, her white tunic billowing in an imagined breeze. Then, next to it, a sweeping countryside painting with luscious hills and glistening lakes, above it the rich-amber orb of a sinking sun.

“Hekate?” Barbara questioned, unable to tear her eyes away from the Goddesses all-seeing visages. “You’re proposing we speak to Her?”

A smile twitched on Walter’s face, and slowly he raised one eyebrow in challenge. “Are you suggesting that after discovering time travel and trolls, a little…tête-à-tête with a deity would be too peculiar?”

She could feel her muscles move through different stages of emotion, from disbelief to provocation to finally amusement. “You’re right. What was I thinking?”

She placed her own teacup onto the carpet and dropped to her knees by his side. She could feel his eyes on her while she consulted all the books within her reach. But throughout all of her self-conscious musings, it didn’t occur to her that he might find her beautiful just like that, or that her refreshing openness was making his heart tremble.

“How do we get started on this then?”

“Well, I’m afraid to say that isn’t straight-forward.” He reached across, drawing another book close, his arm brushing up against hers in the process. “In order to consult Hekate, you must be purified body and soul. It’s a rather demanding potion…not impossible, of course,” he paused to offer her a confident grin, “but it will require time to accumulate all the necessary ingredients.”

“Do we have time?” she questioned doubtfully.

“We will make time.”

Barbara made to tilt her head to find the smile she’d heard in his voice, but the sunlight streaming through the window behind them was blindingly bright, blurring his features. His arm was still resting against hers, however, warm and firm, and on a whim she hooked her pinkie around his, trialling this new connection. To call it satisfactory would have been an understatement, yet she failed to allocate it any other word. Comforting, perhaps, or promising. Ripe with hopes and longings that made her stomach flip and stutter like it hadn’t done since adolescence.

“For now, you must return to your son, Barbara.”

He sounded a little hoarser than before and hurriedly cleared his throat. For a split-second, his pinkie straightened then curled around hers again, brushing over her skin. “And in your absence, I will acquire all the ingredients. You shall have your answers, I promise you that.”

“Thank you, Walt,” she answered and meant it, breaking their contact only so that she could place a brief kiss on his cheek. “But rest those wings and stay out of trouble. Avoid Bular if possible.”

The thought of the faceless troll alone made her heart clench in fear. So she lingered longer than intended, the tip of her nose grazing his temple in an almost nuzzle.

“Just stay safe.”

Walter didn’t dare move or breathe, only his eyes were flickering nervously from side to side before he got a grip and puffed out his chest. “Don’t worry, Barbara. I’m excellent at surviving.”

She chuckled lightly and pulled away, marvelling at how well his bashful blush complimented his suave confidence.

 

* * *

 

Returning to Arcadia was harder than Barbara had anticipated, not only because of everything that had taken place in Paris, but because she knew all too well how she had left things in her ordinary life. She feared what she might encounter at home, what changes may have happened in her absence and the helplessness of having to fix it all without the help of an ally.

At least her car still stood where she had left it, covered in leaves that must have fallen overnight. In silence, she drove back to the little house in the cul de sac, paying little attention to the beautiful day around her. It was difficult enough to remember what day of the week it was or which shift at the hospital she’d have to cover next.

Still, before she entered, she remembered to tuck Walter’s shirt more firmly into her trousers. That way, if Jim was home, it might pass as an ordinary outfit that needn’t be questioned. But only quiet greeted her when she stepped inside and tossed her keys on the hook by the door. Quiet and somewhere below a faint, muffled sound.

“Jim? Honey?” she called, inching towards the basement door.

The odd sound stopped and Barbara grew tense as a foreboding feeling overcame her. Whoever had caused it knew she was there. Her blue eyes darted towards the kitchen, as she wondered what she could use as a weapon, but then the door was flung open and a heavily breathing Jim emerged.

“Oh mum, hi!” he managed casually before he wrapped his arms around her and buried his face against her chest. “Mum where you have been? Why didn’t you come home? And…what happened to your hair?”

She swallowed, all concerns forgotten for the moment. Instead, she held him tightly and gently rubbed his back. She knew that she would always remember the way his voice cracked, the demanding tone breaking into something much more vulnerable and frightened. Because he was only a kid, a kid who’d already lost one parent.

“Honey, I’m so sorry. There are things…” she paused, trying to figure out how best to explain her absence, how best to explain what she had witnessed in the woods. “It’s a long story. How about some lunch and a talk, mmh?”

To her surprise, however, Jim looked rather uncomfortable and once or twice glanced down the stairs of the basement. As if in response, the peculiar sound she had heard earlier happened again. There was stifled groan, a scraping.

“Jim? Who else is here?”

She took a step forward, attempting to peer over his shoulder, but her son very determinedly blocked her path.

“Just…uh…Toby, mom. Just Toby.”

“Hi, Dr L!” the boy called from below, but his voice sounded suspiciously strained.

Barbara’s eyes narrowed and firmly albeit gently so, she moved Jim out of the way and headed down the wooden stairs that creaked noisily underneath her weight.

Pieces of furniture that had once been stored in the room under the earth had been moved aside, revealing a large gaping hole that had been drilled into the wall. In front of it stood Tobias Domzalski, his entire head red with the effort of squeezing and pushing something into the tunnel beyond. Something green and enormous she had seen in the forest the previous night. Something-

“Troll!” she yelled, pointing at the being in question. “Toby, step away from that flesh-eating Gumm-Gumm!”

She snatched a nearby lamp and rushed towards them, swiping once or twice and nearly knocking herself off balance. Perhaps, she thought, if she aggravated it enough, it would follow her outside and be punished by daylight.

But the green troll only moved its hands to shield its face and grunted nervously, “Pacifist. No Gumm-Gumm.”

“Mom, please. Just put the lamp down, I can explain everything.”

Jim had shifted into view, looking pale-faced and worried. But instead of listening, Barbara drew closer to the troll.

“You are not going to hurt my son or his friend!”

In finest mom-voice, she might have appeared more intimidating than Bular himself and Aaarrrgghh slowly inched further and further away from her. Behind him, the six-eyed troll awkwardly tried to move to the front.

“Uh, Mistress Lake, Mother of Jim,” he began pompously, his hands feebly trying to gesture in the crammed space he found himself in, “fret not. We mean no harm.”

With less dignity than he might have liked, he pushed himself through the tunnel opening and towards her, stopping only when the stem of the lamp she was wielding prodded against his stony chest.

“Your son has been called on a great and honourable quest, and we are here to guide him along this path.”

Eyes still narrowed in suspicion, Barbara glanced between him and the other troll and then between her son and his friend. “What is he talking about, Jim?”

“I…I’m the trollhunter, mom,” he confessed sheepishly at last and then, finding a new bout of courage, plucked the makeshift weapon out of her hand. “I have been chosen to protect trolls like Blinky and Aaarrrgghh from the Gumm-Gumms and other threats.”

She swallowed and clasped her hands over her stomach. “When did this happen?”

Was this her doing?

“A…a while ago,” he chuckled nervously and reached back to scratch his head. “When I found the medallion on the way to school.”

“But Jim, honey, you’re not a…a hunter or a knight. You’re a kid, a good kid. This isn’t your job.” She tugged him closer, wanted to envelope him again. Her tone was sharp when she focused on Blinky once more. “You’ll have to find someone else.”

“I’m afraid the medallion of Merlin chooses its own champion.” She could find honest regret and understanding in his many eyes. “We have no means to interfere.”

“And if I don’t help them, mom, there is nobody to protect them.”

She looked back at Jim and yearned to close her eyes at his honest determination. It was just like him to shoulder everything, no matter the size of the burden, and she couldn’t help but feel responsible had he so often looked after her.

“There’s always a way, honey,” she said, knowing all too well that she was pleading a lost cause.

An uncomfortable silence settled over the strange congregation in the basement until Toby was the first one to break it. “So, Dr L, how do you even know about trolls and Gumm-Gumms?”

Grateful for the change of topic, Jim swiftly joined in. “Yeah, mom, Blinky and Aaarrrgghh saw you disappearing into some kind of portal. What’s going on?”

Now that the weight of her secret could be lifted, Barbara felt only terrifying trepidation. How could she summarise her experience? How could she expect her son to change his mind when she had altered so much within a few, fleeting visits to the past?

Fortunately, the doorbell rang at that precise moment, giving her the opportunity to disengage.

“I’ll get it,” she muttered while Blinky squeezed himself back into the tunnel from which he had emerged.

Her mind was racing with a thousand thoughts, so distracted was she that she stared at Walter Strickler a full ten seconds after opening the door.

“Ah, Miss Lake. Forgive this impromptu visit.”

His smile was sleek, too sleek, she thought. And Jim who had appeared behind her seemed to share the sentiment.

“Mr Strickler? What are _you_ doing here?”

“Well, Young Atlas, I felt we were rather cut short by your sudden departure last night. Your mother certainly seemed very stricken. So I thought to myself that perhaps you both could need some help. You really do carry too much on your shoulders.” Smoothly, he retrieved a small card from the inside of his jacket pocket and passed it to her. “My number, Miss Lake. Please call me if I can be of assistance.”

When their hands met, she felt him linger just a moment too long. And when he left, she noticed that his charming smile did not reach his eyes.

“Yikes, man,” came Toby’s muffled voice from behind, and Barbara couldn’t help but agree.   



	8. Since We've Met

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- she knows that he knows, but does he know that she knows that he knows? ;)   
> \- your support still is the best thing, thank you, thank you, thank you!!  
> \- any Americans holler at me the most well known breakdown service brand in the states? I'd originally written AA,   
>  but I guess that's only a British thing?   
> \- fluffy bonding coming up in the next instalment; I reckon they deserve some softness by now

“Why is Strickler doing this?”

“I don’t know, dude. Maybe he’s taking this proactive teaching thing to the next level?”

“Ugh, it’s the last thing I need. How am I meant to train or…or take care of Bular’s minions if I not only have to cram school but also some counselling sessions with Strickler in?”

While the conversation unfolded behind her, Barbara was still staring blankly at the door that had been closed a moment ago. She, too, was mulling over Walter’s motivations, although her thoughts ended more in “secret changeling mission" fears than scheduling concerns. From what little snippets she caught, however, it seemed as though her son had no inkling yet that his history teacher possessed a dual identity. Perhaps he knew nothing about changelings at all. Which presented her with an uncomfortable conundrum. Either, she could be honest with him and risk Walter’s life or she could withhold the truth once more and wait to see how events would play out. She wasn’t comfortable with either, but if Walter had shown signs of changing in the past, surely he could be swayed enough to consider his allegiances in the here and now. 

“Honey, why don’t you make us all some tea. I really gotta shower and when I’m back we’ll reconvene in the basement to talk things through. How does that sound?”

“Yeah…sure. Sounds great, mom,” he replied, sounding anything but, and when she retreated up the stairs, she could hear Tobias whisper, “So big bombshell, huh? Your mom is in the know?”

Failing to suppress a heavy sigh, Barbara disappeared into her bedroom, collected fresh clothes and then stole across the hall into the bathroom for some much needed privacy. It was the guilt that was settling uncomfortably in her stomach, that was expanding and gnawing and leaving her raw on the inside, because she knew that she couldn’t stop omitting the truth. Granted, Jim had done the same, but he was a kid with a secret and the weight of the world on his shoulders, she was an adult, and there were certain standards that she held herself to. She wasn’t so sure that she was meeting them anymore since discovering the portal.

Right and wrong, good and evil had become less black and white, but she couldn’t expect that everyone around her would agree with that.

The hot water that hit her body did something to relax her. It drummed on the stiff tendons in her neck and shoulders and softened them bit by bit. It burned like salt in the wound on her thigh. It distracted her mind. The 21st century soap was a wonderful gift as well, and she lathered it thickly into her hair, determined to destroy the last remains of Jean’s web. When she finally emerged downstairs, she had become a complete modern woman once more.

Jim and Toby had joined the two trolls in the basement already and set up a ring of long forgotten plastic chairs, one of which lay crumpled up and broken in a corner. Following her glance, the green troll huffed nervously and shifted from one foot to the other.

“Uh…accident. Sorry.”

The corners of her eyes crinkled as she broke into a smile and took a seat herself.

“No harm done,” she tried to reassure him, but the giant seemed sceptical after his run-in with the end of her lamp.

“So you were going to tell us about the portal, mom?” Jim pressed, passing around the plate of BLT sandwiches he had prepared.

Barbara slowly accepted one and took a bite, chewing over her answer.

“It just popped up one day. I was driving back from the hospital…you know when the car broke down?” He nodded and waited for her to continue. “I had no reception to call a breakdown service, so I started wandering through the woods. Somewhere I had to catch a signal. I didn’t look where I was going…I…I must have caught my shoe on a root or something. Next thing I remember is falling. Far longer and deeper than you’d expect, like Alice through the looking glass.”

She chuckled, but all the faces around her were solemn except for Toby's who appeared to be entirely awe-struck.

“When I finally hit the ground, I found myself staring at-“ she paused abruptly, seeking out Blinky’s many eyes. “I hear there are problems with time travel repercussions. Would it be safe to share details?”

“Mooom!” Jim interrupted impatiently, but his troll mentor slowly lifted one hand to give him pause.

“I fear your mother is right, Master Jim. There are few who truly know the intricacies of time travel, but many who paid the price for their ignorance.” He focused his attention on her once more. “I would advise you stick to the bare facts and omit anything that you feel might have a knock on effect on the world we know now.”

Barbara briefly considered this and then resumed her tale.

“I found myself staring at the Eiffel Tower in the past. At first, I thought I’d lost my mind. Hit my head, sleep deprivation.” She swiped her hand through the air in an accompaniment to her words. “But soon I started to explore, and…what’s more, I began to _enjoy_ exploring. Whenever I could spare a couple of hours and I knew you were in school or otherwise occupied, I took a trip to Paris. But one day things became serious. I’m sorry, honey, but you gotta trust me on this. I really can’t give any concrete details. But I had a run in with something that opened my eyes to the troll world. I know about the Gumm-Gumms and about Bular…just not how to tell them apart from other trolls.”

She grimaced and offered an apologetic smile to Aaarrrgghh who returned the gesture with a shy nod of his own.

“But I never heard about a trollhunter.”

Accepting this as his cue, Jim began to share his own experience, from finding the amulet to his encounter with Blinky and Aaarrrgghh, to his reluctant or rather hostile welcome at Troll Market and the dangers he had faced so far. All ending in a shiny display of summoning the armour of Merlin and the blade they called Daylight.

“Oh Jim,” she sighed, rising to her feet and running her palms over his silver plated chest and shoulders, “I wish you could have told me. If either of us had had the courage to share…”

“Yeah, and how would that have gone down? ‘Oh mom, I found this shiny medallion that turns me into a knight, and from now on it’s my job to save the good trolls from the bad’.”

Barbara chuckled and took his chin between thumb and index finger. “ ‘Excellent, honey. I recently fell into a time travelling portal and know all about the troll world’.”

They both dissolved into helpless albeit tired laughter and then shared another hug.

“I’m sorry, Jim. I should have seen sooner that something was up. When I did, I thought it was _my_ doing. That my trips to the past had somehow altered this version of reality. But from what you say, you found the amulet long before I ever ventured to Paris.”

“It’s okay, mom,” he reassured her with a confidence that made her heart ache. “It’s all going to be okay.”

“ _We’ll_ make sure of that.” She let her gaze travel through the room and found only determination in the faces she encountered. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

“A noble sentiment,” Blinky solemnly agreed, then awkwardly cleared his throat, “however, that infestation isn’t going to clean itself.”

“Oh yes, the goblins! Damn!” Jim hopped away from her, sheathing his sword once more. His excitement only wavered momentarily when he looked at her. “You’re uh…gonna be okay in the meantime. Right, mom?”

“Perfectly fine,” she chuckled, lifting her hands, but she could not hide the concern that lingered in her eyes. “You’re just lucky tomorrow isn’t a school day.”

“Yeah, right,” Toby muttered softly to himself while he tried to scuttle into the tunnel entrance. “Totally no trollhunting on weekdays.”

For once, Barbara pretended not to have heard and started folding the chairs away, her heart still heavy and her mind whispering with fears. Over the noisy attempts of getting Aaarrrgghh through the hole in the background and the pressed “Come on, come on noooow”, Blinky’s voice was soft and soothing, his stony hand on hers strangely comforting.

“I will look after him. I promise.”

“Thank you,” she whispered and offered a brave smile, before hurriedly turning her back to them all to wipe the tears from her lashes. How she’d manage to go back to work tomorrow with a head so full it could burst was utterly beyond her.

* * *

 

 

 Thankfully, years of work as a surgeon had taught her how to function well even when under extreme pressure, and the familiar routine, the sudden emergencies and beautiful recoveries provided her with enough different material to occupy her brain. Days slipped by without notice, and it was only at night when she collapsed in her bed after having completed another challenging shift that feelings of guilt overtook her.

She reflected how, more often than not, she only caught Jim in fleeting moments throughout the day, moments barely long enough to check in about school and the trollhunting business. But she doubted that those moments were enough to really offer support. Likewise she wished she could find a way to see how Walter was faring in Paris, or to let him know that she’d simply become sucked back into life in the 21st century and would return at the earliest convenience.

It was on one of those nights that she realised that there was something she could do, after all. Swivelling her legs over the side of the bed, she padded to her hamper and searched through the load of clothes until her fingers found the firm paper of the little white card present-day Walter had given her. The neon orange digits on her alarm clock read 22:00 hours – much too late for a call – but she reckoned that the scheming changeling was unlikely to mind.

“Strickler?”

He sounded much shorter than she had anticipated. Perhaps, she thought, he had been waiting for someone else to call.

“Hi, Mr Strickler. This is Barbara Lake. Jim’s mom?”

Brief silence. She could picture him smoothing his expression until it was cool and neutral even though he knew that she couldn’t see him.

“I’m really sorry to be reaching out so late, but I just got home from the hospital and-“ She cut herself off, letting the possibilities dangle invitingly in the air, fuelling his imagination.

“Ah, Miss Lake. What a pleasant surprise.” Did he always sound so oily? “The hour is of no consequence. I find myself awake most nights anyhow, grading papers, preparing. But who am I telling this? Work always feels never-ending, doesn’t it?”

In the semi-darkness of her bedroom, Barbara rolled her eyes. “Sure does. I…uh…I was calling to pick you up on your offer. If that still stands, of course?”

“Certainly, certainly. Young Jim used to be my star pupil when I first arrived in Arcadia, and I see no reason why he shouldn’t achieve that status again. He simply carries too much on his shoulders to focus.”

_Like trollhunting, you mean?_

“How about we discuss this further over a cup of coffee? I could probably manage a lunch break tomorrow between 1 and 2.”

She could tell by his faint exhalation of surprise that he hadn’t anticipated such a suggestion. But she wagered that he was delighted by this turn of events. Her guess was that he would attempt to wrap her around his finger, to create a front against Jim that would only make him feel guiltier for keeping a secret. Or perhaps he would attempt to kidnap her again and force Jim into some bold and reckless move. She blinked, still holding the phone. Or perhaps not. Her disappearance might have remained unquestioned in the 20ies, but here in the 21st century there would be all sorts of investigations that would prove unnecessary trouble for him. Nonetheless, she’d have to carefully monitor her drink.

“Yes, Miss Lake. I think that could be arranged.”

“Marvellous! I’ll look forward to it. Thanks so much again for your help.”

“Oh nonsense, the pleasure is all mine.”

We’ll see about that, Barbara thought. The game, it appeared, had officially begun.

* * *

  
  
The beginning of the following day was lost in a flurry of activity. Workers from a nearby power plant had suffered injuries due to a malfunction of one of their machines, and so Barbara had been occupied for most of the morning assessing the severity of the wounds and delegating the patients accordingly. When she finally came up for air around lunch time, she was already running ten minutes late for her meeting with Walter, her stomach was making rumbling sounds that could have rivalled the rolling of thunder and her hastily flung on shirt bore traces of coffee. She could only guess what the changeling would make of her.

His face was unintelligible but polite, and as he saw her approach, he rose from the table he had secured them outside and offered his hand.

“Sorry I’m late. There was an emergency at the hospital….still is, actually. So I might have to dash again sooner rather than later.”

She slipped her hand into his and gave it a light squeeze, but all this produced was that infuriatingly slick smile. She wondered, once more, if he recognised her at all, if he had any recollection of their time in Paris, but he gave away so little that it was difficult to even speculate. If she’d been pressed for an answer, she would have followed her gut and said no.

“I understand. You’re a busy woman.” Still holding on to her hand, he turned her gently to offer her a seat. “I’ve taken the liberty of ordering a coffee for myself already. I thought you might want to choose your own drink.”

She very nearly breathed a sigh of relief. “Yeah, thanks. In my profession? There can never be too much coffee either though.”

He joined in her laughter and with a swift flick of the wrist that bordered on being pretentious waved over a waiter.

“Espresso, please. Two shots.”

She could feel his eyes on her face while she ordered, more intense than she remembered his gaze from the past. Grounding herself, she placed both elbows on the table.

“You said Jim has been missing classes?”

The first move of the match was hers, and she had chosen it carefully.

“Yes, quite regularly in fact.” His eyebrows drew together in a comically tragic expression of concern. “Mornings _and_ afternoons.”

“And is it just him? What about his friends?”

Walter took a considered sip of his coffee before answering. “Sometimes Mr Domzalski goes missing too, yes.”

Barbara sighed and drummed her fingers against the table. It wasn’t hard faking concern when she genuinely did not appreciate how the trollhunting was affecting her son’s academic career.

“It’s hardly surprising then that his grades have slipped.”

Walter opened his mouth to respond, noticed the approaching waiter and paused until they’d been served.

“I understand relationships with his father are…complicated?”

His tone was gentle and calm, tactful in a way that had her squirming in her chair. She couldn’t remember the last time she had spoken about Jim’s father, the last time that someone had shown interest. Not that she could blame them. After the divorce and the whole mess that had been the aftermath of their relationship, friends and family had heard enough of her rants and tirades to last them a life time. They didn’t glimpse the subtle nuances of that broken relationship that perforated every single day. From the hours spent calculating finances, to the school plays missed, the presents that couldn’t be bought. And the questions, the many, never-ending questions to which there were no answers. Because no explanation could ever hope to soothe the sting of paternal rejection, no words could comfort a child who felt alone and bereft. 

“Miss Lake?”

Barbara blinked and reflexively wiped at her eyes. Amidst the sunshine and the coffee, the gentle breeze and twittering birds, it was almost too easy to talk and to forget that this Walter had malicious intentions.

“I’m sorry. I guess that’s still a sore topic for both of us.” To avoid the understanding in his eyes, she hastily emptied the contents of her espresso cup. “James is basically a no-show. He’s never been good at being reliable.”

Before her, Walter steepled and unsteepled his fingers. She could see the corners of his mouth work, as though he wasn’t certain how to manage the compassion he was so obviously experiencing.

“I can see how that must be difficult for you both. And I know you are trying your best. Jim speaks very highly of you.”

Barbara managed a watery chuckle and studied the contents of her empty cup. “Thank God for that, huh?”

“Indeed.”

His tone spiked gently with his own brand of humour and suddenly his hands covered hers. Her head shot up. Blue eyes melted into green in a whirlpool of past and future. Walter swallowed thickly. His brows furrowed. Something was crossing his mind. Perhaps he couldn’t quite place the thought. He blinked. His lashes fanned once against his skin.

“I am certain Young Atlas is merely testing out his boundaries. Normal pubescent behaviour. What’s important is to monitor him carefully. Ascertaining that he has the right support at all times.”

Her treacherous tongue lay heavy and sluggish in her mouth, no longer eager to lash out at him with witty words or entrap him in sly sentences. She urged her tired mind to remember the plan.

“Maybe a respectable male role model is what he needs.”

“Yes, that could be an idea. Did you have someone in mind?”

Quietly, she breathed a sigh of relief. Now she had him back where she wanted him.

“Yes. I thought maybe you could turn out to be a positive influence, Mr Strickler.”


	9. It's De-Lovely

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- something for the Stricklake Thirst (I hope)   
> \- thanks for your support :)

The car had ceased humming underneath them a little while ago. But the key still remained stuck in ignition and the front lights illuminated a small radius of forest in front of them. In the semi-darkness, the long branches of trees dangled like reaching arms above.

Barbara, in the driver’s seat, had tilted her head to watch her son’s profile in the silence that had expanded and grown inside the vehicle.

“Jim, honey? Talk to me?”

His brows drew together and he contemplated his words. She followed the wave of dark hair that flopped over his forehead and nearly covered his eyes to his firmly set jaw, finding traces of childhood and maturity intermingled in every nuance.

“I get it,” he began, frowned deeper and started anew. “I understand why I can’t come along. But I don’t like it. If there’s trolls, if there’s Bular I should be there to protect you.”

She could see his left hand close reflexively around the amulet he now carried everywhere. They had talked about this often since she had mentioned her intentions of returning to the past. About the risks his presence might create, about the likelihood that he would even make it through the portal when Jacques had failed to do so – not that she had mentioned the changeling directly.

“I know, sweetie. I don’t like it either when you’re out all night and I can’t reach you. But I’m your mother. It’s normal. I’ll worry even when you’re 50.” She offered him an olive branch by means of a wink, but the smile on his face faltered soon enough. “You, on the other hand, are just a kid. You shouldn’t have to protect me or look after me. And yet you did. Even before you became the trollhunter.” She bridged the distance between them and took his hand that was clenching the medallion. “And for that you will always be my hero. Now trust me to handle this. I can, honey, I really can. And I promise you, I won’t take any unnecessary risks, and I’ll be back by tomorrow.”

He huffed out a sigh, clearing away errand strands of hair to reveal the brilliant blue of his eyes so like her own.

“You said we’re in this together. All of us. You, me, Toby, Blinky, Aaarrrgghh. But when you go through that portal there’s no back-up. No-one to bail you out.”

There was a lump in her throat so thick she couldn’t swallow. If only she could tell him.

“I do have back-up, kiddo. I’m a doctor, remember? I’m not stupid.”

She nudged him with her elbow, and this time he at least let out a chuckle. With her left hand she freed herself of her seat belt and leaned across to gather him in her arms.

“Get home safely and no wild troll parties in my absence. I wanna be around when that happens.”

“Got it. And don’t you forget to eat the sub I made you. Chicken club, your favourite.”

Smiling warmly, she tousled his hair until he ducked out of reach, rubbing his neck with a bashful “Mooooom”. She pecked his forehead.

“Love you lots like tater tots, Jim.”

They both exited the vehicle and without its light the darkness around them expanded.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Walking across the uneven forest ground was difficult in the heels she had slipped on, and she had to gather the skirts of her dress to make sure it didn’t catch on anything and rip. She patted the small satchel that she wore around her shoulder to reassure herself that the magical key was inside before casting a final look towards her son and disappearing into the swirling void of the portal.

Paris welcomed her with a warm breeze and a milder temperature than she had anticipated, but after several weeks of absence it felt odd and foreign once more. Like looking through a yellowed and worn mirror but being unable to touch anything on the other side.

Seizing the key like raw courage itself, she focused on Walter’s home and managed to teleport to the steps outside his building. She was fortunate that no-one else was about to see her do so. Still, her treacherous heart fluttered and thrummed wildly in her chest. Two steps up. A pause to fix her hair. Three steps up. Hopefully he was home. And alone.

In the distance, the doorbell chimed far too noisily. She was putting the key back into her satchel and counting his footsteps.

“Barbara!”

Surprise coloured his tone a beautiful shade of fragile and heartened, she offered him a broad, relieved smile. “Hi, Walt. Can I come in?”

He nearly missed a step while letting her pass – he’d been too busy drinking her in - recovered swiftly but awkwardly and drew too much enjoyment from the fleeting contact as she brushed past him. With words still jumbled in his mouth, he saw her up to his apartment in silence. Barbara, on the other hand, found that she could not stop chattering.

“You seem well enough. No more run-ins with Bular, I hope?” She didn’t allow enough time for an answer but barrelled on. “Look, I’m really sorry it’s been so long. There have been some huge – and I mean huge – developments back at home. Of course, I can’t tell you anything about that, but-“ The briefest pause, long enough for a nervous chuckle. “Anyway, I just had to stay longer and then work caught up with me and it took forever before I could get an entire weekend off again. And I didn’t know how to let you know that I was fine. Would dropping a note through the portal work?”

“Barbara,” he interrupted gently, capturing both of her hands in his, “it’s alright. You are here now.”

Slowly, she let the last tense breath go and inhaled long and calmly until the air expanded in her belly.

“Great.” She allowed herself another cycle of regulated breathing. “Will you tell me what I’ve missed in the meantime?”

He still hadn’t let go of her hands and where his skin was covering hers she could feel herself tingle.

“It would be my pleasure.”

Just as Walter had done in the 21st century at the coffee shop, he now turned her towards the sofa to encourage her to take a seat, but then he stopped and withdrew one hand which proceeded to run shyly through his hair.

“Though perhaps a question first.”

Curiosity piqued by his sudden change, she offered what she hoped to pass as an encouraging smile.

“How long can you stay this time?”

“I told my son that I would be back from a conference tomorrow.” Not quite a lie; she was living in a world of half-truths now. “I thought maybe that’d give us enough time to try and summon Hekate. Did you manage to get the ingredients?”

Immediately, he relaxed and confidence made him stand tall once more.

“How marvellous! We’re on the same page. It wasn’t an easy feat, but naturally I found a way.”

His pomposity was so ludicrous that she couldn’t help but laugh and lightly slap his chest. “Naturally you did.”

He briefly drew away from her to open up the ancient tome that contained the spell.

“However, the potion must simmer for 10 hours before it can be used to purify the soul. Otherwise it’s poisonous.” He spoke about this so matter-of-factly that she could feel her eyebrows shoot up in horror. “Since I didn’t know the precise time of your return, I am yet to complete that final step. I’m wondering…would you indulge me perhaps?”

Puzzled now, her brows drew together. “Indulge you how? If you mean the potion, I’d sure rather drink something that won’t kill me.”

He chuckled so much that he started to snort. “Very amusing. What I meant to say…to ask…” Sudden uncertainty made his fingertips twitch. “While the potion is brewing, would you indulge me and let me take you to dinner? Dinner and dancing? I know of a little club that is positively changeling free. Perhaps I could fill you in about developments there?”

Barbara could only stare while her cheeks developed a ridiculous red colour that was sure to expose far more of her feelings than she liked.

“Why not? It’s been a while since I got to do something fun, something that’s not life threatening here in Paris.”

“Precisely my reasoning. Permit me a moment and then we can leave.”

While he retreated to his room to finish preparations on the potion, Barbara occupied herself by skimming through his books. He possessed a large collection of belletristic literature and classics, academic papers and pamphlets that were aged beyond recognition. There were entire tomes written in a language she could not understand – presumably trollish – and others that held assortments of magical spells.

She moved on, stepping more and more towards the left until she had almost reached the window. There, something caught her attention. It was a book that had been visibly often handled, for the spine was worn and the pages dog-eared. “ _Healing Herbs & Their Application_” the title read. She pulled it out and carefully flicked through it, finding that it was aimed at trollish and human audiences alike and probably created by a changeling.

“Apologies for the delay. Shall we?”

Gently, she slid the book back into place and turned to face Walter. He had changed into a pair of black dress pants, a crisp white shirt and a neatly ironed black tailcoat. He had slicked back his hair, and in his button hole sat the blossom of a white lily.

She was staring at him for so long that he nervously lowered the arm he had extended to her and asked, “Is something the matter?”

She just about caught herself then and averted her eyes, wondering when she had transformed into such a blundering idiot.

“No, everything is fine. But are you sure I’m not underdressed for wherever it is you’re taking me?”

The confusion on his face made way for something like soft understanding. “Barbara, I can assure you you’re looking just fine.”

With her heart now beating in her throat, she accepted his arm and followed him into the Parisian night. The air outside had grown thick and humid, swiftly drifting clouds promising an impending storm. So they took a taxi across town, though the ride lasted less than fifteen minutes. Around them, revellers grew scarcer and sounds dulled down. Pushing against the seat, Barbara craned her neck to see where they were.

“There’s really no need to be anxious. We are still in the heart of the city. The Luxembourg Gardens are a stone’s throw to our right and the _Île de la Cité_ a stone’s throw behind us. But we are bypassing the heavy traffic that clogs up the main streets. This club is exclusive, members only, and I value it for the privacy that it offers me.”

She rested her hand atop his and nodded. The driver let them out at a junction of small alleyways of which they took the southernmost into what turned out to be a dead end. While Barbara was busy examining the buildings that rose on either side of them, Walter rapped his knuckles against the wall in front. And to her surprise the bricks parted to reveal a carefully designed door and beyond, a hulk of a man.

“Good evening, Walter,” he greeted them in his thick accent. “And Mademoiselle?”

“Her name is Barbara,” the changeling explained in his own attempt at French, “and she will be my companion for tonight.”

“Certainly, Monsieur. May I see your key?”

In what she assumed to be a ceremonial gesture, Walter removed the lily from his button hole and tucked it gingerly into her hair. She could feel his fingers whispering across her scalp, grazing the shell of her ear, his warmth so inviting that she automatically leaned in to his touch. 

“Wonderful. Bienvenue chez _Le Chat Noir_.”

A staircase of finely chiselled stone led lower and lower still until they emerged into an open space that might once have been a wine cellar. It was small but not suffocatingly so, and the shimmer of the many tea lights created an atmosphere that was both intimate and cosy. With confidence, Walter guided her, leading her through a small throng of dancing couples and past the band that had set up at the centre of the room. Finally, they stopped at a table in a corner which upon closer inspection turned out to be a giant oak barrel and Walter let go of her arm long enough to pull out the chair for her.

“What a remarkable place!” she whispered once he, too, had taken his seat.

“Yes, I daresay it is rather unique, though I’m especially pleased to hear that you like it. It can be difficult to find a place away from my brethren. Between the historical society and the mission, I’m practically always under observation.”

“The historical society?” she asked. Her gaze had been sweeping across the couples in the room and the waiters that danced elegantly in the tight space between them, dedicated to serve. “Are you saying that I ran from one changeling only to knock on the door of a whole congregation of changelings?”

His mouth twitched into a wry smile. “The Janus Order.” He nodded meaningfully.

She took a moment to digest this. “Right there by the Seine? In broad daylight?”

“It would hardly be appropriate to hide, Barbara,” he reminded her gently.

His right hand lay stretched out on the table, his palm turned upward, and in a moment of bravery, she unfurled her own from her lap and placed it into his.

“Speaking of which. No God has come knocking yet on your door then, demanding answers?”

“No, and neither has Jean returned to pay me a visit. It has all been very quiet, ominously so. You must understand that we are nothing like trolls. Jacques was an unfortunate exception. We don’t make it a habit to go blundering in, picking fights. We wait patiently, we observe, we identify vulnerabilities. And then we strike.”

She could read concern in the depth of his green eyes and sought to soothe it by trailing her fingertips along the lines on his palm. “Are you saying that it might not have been a coincidence that nothing happened in my absence?”

“Yes, I think it’s a possibility we must consider.”

Which was why he had brought her here tonight, she realised. To keep her safe, safer than she might have been at his own apartment where they could be under scrutiny.

“Then wouldn’t it be better if we consulted Hekate somewhere else too?”

“Technically speaking? Certainly. Unfortunately, I have failed to locate a bathtub in an establishment which I would deem secure.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled handsomely as he smiled, and as if to soften his dry remark, he curled his fingers inwards until the tips grazed against hers. And from this intimacy a spark was born that crackled quietly and lightly like distant lightning in a summer storm.

“Dance with me,” he murmured into the space between them in a voice that was thick and deeply moved.

He made it sound like an invitation, not a question, and so she found herself nodding. One hand firmly tucked into the other once more, they made their way across the busy little club and into the small crowd of other dancing couples.

“Walt,” she whispered all of a sudden, stopping in her tracks.

His eyes took on a regrettably sad look. “Yes, Barbara?”

“It’s been ages since I’ve danced, and well I’ve certainly never learned how to-“

Her eyes were sweeping over the other couples when he pulled her gently against him. “It isn’t necessary to know. Just follow my lead.”

She wanted to tell him that she had two left feet and that if he wasn’t careful the night might end in an impromptu visit to the hospital. She wanted to tell him that the 21st century way of dancing might be deemed inappropriate in the 20ies. But when he moved her arms around his neck and his own carefully came to circle her waist, her breath hitched and her brain stalled, making her forget any considerations she might have had.

Carried by the beat of the music, they swayed from side to side, their minds intoxicated by the heady promise of new beginnings and the rich notes of the house wine that clung in the air. She let her thumbs follow the nape of his neck until they brushed up against the thick strands of his dark hair. His eyelids drooped and finally his head sagged forward until it came to rest against her own.

In this, the barest of gaps between their lips, she could hear him huff out a sigh. It was low and fragile, but on her tongue it tasted sweet like an admission.

“How are your wings?” she murmured. “Are they healing?”

Her thumbs disappeared into his hair now, scratching his scalp, nearing the spot where his horns should be. Under her, Walter shuddered and his nostrils flared. His eyes, when he opened them were hazy and of a gleaming amber.

“Yes.”

The tremor in his voice very nearly proved to be her undoing. She could see his gaze dip to her lips which remained parted in breathless astonishment. Beckoning. Almost.

“You are beautiful. Barbara.”

An agonisingly raw confession. Her name shattering on his tongue under the weight of conflicting emotions.

“You’re very handsome yourself.”

It came out clumsy and her cheeks coloured. Nervously, a chuckle escaped her. It was enough to cut through the moment and clear it like a gust of fresh air.

Walter chuckled too, his eyes turning back to green.

“Thank you.” His nose brushed up against hers, gentle and innocent but undeniably needy for contact. “Now I do believe the waiter has left a few presents at our table. Shall we return to our seats once more?”

She thought that he might kiss her then, just a brief, chaste kiss stolen in the rush of the moment. To be discussed or ignored at their leisure. But he didn’t, and she felt its absence in her chest where previously his heart had beaten against her own.

Straightening, she accepted his offered arm and permitted him to guide her back to the table. But the intimacy that they had only just shared was difficult to recover from.

Gradually, they brushed it aside, seeking out the safer shores of chit chat before turning their attention to their half-formed plan. There was much to discuss when all was speculation, starting with Hekate’s reaction to being summoned and the origin of the key. They fortified themselves with Barbara’s chicken club sub which went surprisingly well with the selection of cheeses Walter had ordered and then washed it all down with a bottle of wine so potent it seemed to hum in her veins instead of blood. She could feel it spreading through her body, warming her toes and fingertips, comfortingly so. With the back of her hand she sought to stifle the first yawn, the consecutive days of work catching up with her.

“Perhaps we should go back now?” Walter suggested gently, noticing her valiant efforts to stave off exhaustion.

“I’d hate to cut this short.”

“You don’t,” he re-assured her, rising to his feet. He rounded the table and helped her up before offering his arm. “I’ve had a wonderful evening.”

“Me too.”

They found their smiles mirrored in each other’s eyes and slowly made their way out of the underground club and into the night. In their absence, the rain that had threatened earlier had fallen and coated pavements in glistening beads that reflected the light of the lanterns. The mild breeze, fresh and crisp, roused her from her drowsy state, and so she suggested that they’d walk back.

Walter led her northwards, steering them through quiet alleyways and private lanes. His dark hair curled gently underneath the moisture that lingered in the air. She pressed herself closer to him, her palm seeking the firmness of his biceps to steady herself. He smelled like wine, like herbs and spices from the potion, like soap…like home. And she was close enough to run her nose along his neck, right there where the top of his collar gave way to soft, inviting skin. She could. If she dared.

As though sensing her thoughts, a deep rumbled sigh escaped him; his footsteps faltered.

“They serve as a reminder to me.”

Confused, she followed the line of his gaze and realised that they had come to a halt in front of _Notre Dame_. Now that the clouds had cleared, the full moon shone brightly above them, casting the age-old cathedral in its ethereal glow.

“Who?”

His eyes swept higher, up to the bell towers where the gargoyles kept their watch over the city.

“My predecessors.” He had honed in on precisely them. “Trolls, lesser trolls, frozen to stone in consciousness. Tasked to observe. Enchanted at night to report.”

Once more she studied them, the griffin heads, the wings, the horns. Her throat constricted.

“They remind me to survive. They remind me of the injustice we have suffered. They teach me my rightful place in this world.”

She could feel his anger prickling underneath his skin. The whisper of darkness.

Letting go of his arm, she turned herself completely against him, blocking his view of _Notre Dame_.

“You can be the best of both worlds, Walter,” she told him softly. “You can try.”

Her knuckles ghosted over his cheek, all the way down to where smoothness met stubble. And when she leaned in, he parted his lips, welcoming her touch. It was as if he, of flesh and stone alike, had spent his entire existence yearning for this. And so she fell into him then, body and soul, surrendering herself with the same ease with which he had offered himself to her. Hearts in mouths. Hopeful.

 


	10. Buddie, Beware

Tired but much too awake to sleep, Barbara spent most of the night watching Paris through the window in her room. It was as if she could feel Walter’s heartbeat through the thin wall that separated them, elevated just like her own by the single kiss they had shared. She wondered if he, too, was sitting up in his bed, brushing his fingertips against his mouth or running his tongue over his bottom lip to find her in the lingering sensations. She wondered if he, too, steered his mind away from the unknown repercussions of their blossoming romance.

Enveloping herself in happier scenarios her mind finally settled down and allowed her to rest, though she woke up soon after, her head still resting against the wall, the white lily clasped between her hands. The sun hadn’t quite risen yet outside, but the sky was no longer dark and impenetrable. Swirls of light were brightening it here and there, painting it in the paler hues of blue and grey.

Pulling on her dress from the night before, Barbara advanced silently into the living room, casting a fleeting glance towards Walter’s door. When nothing stirred, she plucked out the book on herbs and their application that she had discovered the previous evening and settled down in a corner of the sofa. She had no idea in what year Olaf Gunmarson had written down his knowledge on healing properties or how much medicine had advanced within trollkind in the meantime, but his ideas and insight into the matter had her positively riveted.

She spent some time looking for paper and pen to jot down notes, but in the end settled for good old fashioned memorising instead. After all, what she had stored in her head could hardly be extracted or taken away again. Perhaps she could even ask Blinky which remedies would still prove useful. Perhaps everything she had learned would one day come in handy, for Jim and his friends alike.

“Barbara?”

Surprised, she blinked and closed the book. She hadn’t even heard him enter.

“Sorry, I was miles away.”

He looked outrageously good in the morning, she thought. No matter the wrinkles in his shirt and trousers. No matter the sleep-tousled hair.

Noticing her lingering look, Walter scratched the back of his head amidst a bashful chuckle. “Find something you like?”

She knew he was referring to the book in her lap but purposefully misunderstood. “One or two things.”

She unfurled her legs from underneath her and walked over to him to peck his lips.

“Barbara,” he rumbled, half in pleasure, half in an attempt to resist her, but she would have none of it and moved her hand into his hair to scratch his scalp. He shuddered, his entire body trembling against her. “Not the horns, not the horns.” With great effort he finally disentangled himself, and she could swear that he procured the yellow gleam in his eyes only to scare her. “Now you are just being mean.”

She laughed lightly and granted him – albeit reluctantly so – the space that he needed to compose himself. “You know I would continue if you’d let me.”

This time he went slack-jawed while his eyes grew wide and shimmered emerald once more. “Scandalous! Whatever would Madame Vasily say?”

“Nothing unless you can’t keep quiet.”

She winked. He paled. It was almost amusing watching all the blood drain from his face. It seemed difficult for him to recover, and for a moment she thought that she must have broken him. Perhaps she had pushed it too far too early on.

“Is my flirting that rusty?” she asked, chuckling nervously. A strand of red hair was hastily brushed behind her ear.

His brows drew together even when he automatically reached for her hands. “No, on the contrary. It’s very…uh…very good.”

“But a little bit aggressive for this time?”

The softness of skin against skin reassured her. He took a moment to consider his answer.

“Not particularly. I have seen worse. Jacques attempted to eat you, remember?”

That made her laugh and brought their conversation back to a safer level.

“Well, sure. If you put it like that you have nothing to worry about. Now how’s the potion doing?”

She could tell that he had been working on it by the way his hands smelled when she brought them close for a kiss. Thyme and jasmine, ginger root. Other scents foreign to her but cool and soothing and clearly medicinal. A faintly shimmering powder glistened on his fingertips.

“Quartz,” he answered her unasked question. “The final ingredient. The potion is now ready. I suggest you consume it prior to breakfast. Your stomach will thank you.”

One corner of her mouth drooped in a lopsided grimace. “You’re not really selling this, you know?”

He laughed heartily at her discomfort and wrapped an arm around her waist to bring her closer. “In this instant I prefer bracing honesty, my dear.”

She placed a hand on his chest to feel his fluttering pulse and grinned. “Your decision making process needs some work then.”

With glistening eyes he took her in, completely softened underneath her touch. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“If not now then never,” she shrugged and allowed him to walk her to the bathroom.

Letting go of her at last, he rolled up his sleeves and proceeded to fill the tub with plenty of warm water which sloshed and splashed in its own rhythm against the white porcelain.

“What do I say to Her? How do I address Her?”

Walter was adding the first potion to the tub. Clouds of blue and green billowed and swirled through the waves of water. He corked the empty flask and studied her with a pensive expression.

“Ask Her. Their preference often varies.”

Collecting her bottom lip between her teeth, Barbara stared at her feet and thought and considered.

“And is there anything I can ask her for you? Anything that would help you and the other changelings?”

The green of his iris seemed to melt into shades of hunger and gratitude that no words could otherwise do justice. With some restraint he finally answered.

“This is your audience with Hekate, Barbara. You were chosen to travel through time and to wield an ancient artefact. Find your truth, and I will seek a way to discover mine.” The kiss he pressed on her cheek was light and chaste. A promise of sorts, or perhaps an encouragement.

“Okay,” she nodded. “So what do I do next? The other potion?” With no small amount of hesitation, she eyed the bulge in his trouser pocket where she knew the dreaded second flask resided.

“I’m afraid so. Empty it in one go and don’t think about it too much.”

She chuckled nervously and eyed the bottle as though it was death itself. When it passed from his hands into hers it felt innocent and cool however.

“And if anything goes wrong? You’ll be here, won’t you?”

“Of course, I will be waiting just outside. If there is any problem call me and I’ll come. I’ll even break down the door if I have to.”

She squeezed his hand. “Impressive. Is that how you woo all your women?”

“One never discloses the secret to one’s success,” he said, waggling his eyebrows in a way so charming and suave that she only laughed harder.

“Got it.”

Walter sobered if only for a moment, his eyes were still shining warmly with tenderness, then he leaned in and placed a kiss on her forehead before retreating to the living room. “Good luck.”

The door seemed to fall heavily shut behind him, leaving only eerie silence and the soft sloshing of water. Barbara hesitated, collected her courage and finally undressed to sink into the tub. Nothing so far felt out of the ordinary.

Leaving the potion wedged between her knees, she submerged her upper body completely, making sure that her entire head and hair were properly soaked. Still, nothing had changed when she resurfaced. Now, she knew, she couldn’t put off the inevitable any longer and uncorking the flask, she downed its contents with one brave gulp. The mixture of flavours was so abhorrent, the concoction so potent that she sputtered and coughed and grasped at her throat.

“Unpleasant, isn’t it? And utterly unnecessary.”

It was only the sound of the voice that made her stop. Blue eyes scanned the room but encountered only the same old details.

“Hekate? My lady?” she asked uncertainly.

“Yes, Barbara Lake, it is I.”

A glimmer of something in the air, bright yet feeble like reflected light. Slowly, it morphed into something bigger, something human with alabaster skin and long-flowing dark hair. She possessed only one face, but her eyes were dark and empty.

“I’m so glad you came to-“ Barbara began but swiftly cut herself off. “Did you say unnecessary? What’s unnecessary?”

To her surprise, the Goddess before her covered her mouth as she broke into a peal of giggles. “This ritual you have so painstakingly prepared. When you fell through the portal we became connected. You must only call me and I shall appear.”

“Well, if you knew this why didn’t you tell me when you spoke to me last?”

Hekate tipped her head to one side and observed her with a wondrous smile. “And where would the fun be in that?”

Annoyance welled up in her when she considered the effort Walter had put into the acquisition of all ingredients. As a doctor she especially hated having time being wasted. But, and she remembered this only at the last second, this wasn’t some congested teenager she was talking to nor some normal prankster. This was Hekate. Goddess of Crossroads and Guardian of Portals. So, however reluctantly, Barbara bit her tongue.

“Will you answer my questions?”

“Of course.”

“Why me? Why Arcadia?” She tried to sit up more without exposing herself above the bubbles.

“You were an accident. It could have been anyone. Though perhaps on reflection…” An amused smile graced her features as she hovered on the same spot. “You  _are_  the Trollhunter’s mother. That must be important, mustn’t it?”

It appeared that Hekate had mastered the art of cryptic answers.

“As for Arcadia. Well, that’s where Trollmarket is located.” For a moment or two her black eyes glimmered and her voice became darker. “That’s where events will unfold.”

At once, Jim’s face appeared before her mind’s eyes, floating in the orbs of light that Janus had consulted. She shivered, despite the warmth of the water.

“And the key?” she managed to inquire weakly.

“What about it? Do try to form full sentences.”

Barbara’s frown deepened yet her annoyance only seemed to amuse the Goddess.

“Why did you give it to me? Will it play a role in future events?”

“I suppose it could, depending on how you use it. But you needed help. You were in trouble. I should have realised that sooner – the moment when you stumbled headlong into my portal, for example. It’s a useful little tool.”

Walter would have a coronary to hear it described as such. The direction of her thoughts must have registered on her face or perhaps her eyes had strayed a little too obviously to the door, because when she next looked at Hekate she found her wearing a knowing grin.

“Handsome, isn’t he?”

Her cheeks flushed and automatically she crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t know what that has to do with anything.”

“Don’t you?” The Goddess cocked her head once more. “What a shame. You humans are so driven by love. Love and power. If only you could have certainty which one  _he_  will choose.”

It was as though she had peered directly into her soul and found the fears and doubts that were plaguing her still. Barbara knew that she would have the answers she needed but refrained from asking her. Whether this was cowardly or brave she could not say.

“So is the key yours or Janus’s? And what’s His involvement in all of this?”

“The key?” One of Hekate’s fine dark eyebrows rose. “Oh, ‘tis but a trinket to us. Mine to begin with I’d wager…or perhaps his…”

For an interminably long time she disappeared into her own thoughts and silence expanded ominously. Barbara felt it on her skin, alive and swollen with knowledge and truths that frightened her, like fingers crawling, fumbling, conquering. The bath water around her was growing cold. She caught herself shivering.

“Janus wants war and chaos,” Hekate finally continued, her unseeing eyes burning all of a sudden. “They have always fed his soul and given him strength. And who better to use than trolls and changelings who have been raring for a rematch for centuries?” She floated closer, her head bent like a mother gazing down upon her child. “And He will use every means at his disposable, Barbara Lake. He will twist and corrupt, He will whisper words sweet as honey.” One of her ethereal arms reached out and slowly she ran her fingertips through Barbara’s hair. “This war will need a woman’s touch. And you will play your role when the time comes.” She straightened and already started to fade. “Men cannot be trusted.”

Despite the cold of the water, Barbara lingered in the tub. She was trying to digest the information she had gathered so she could share it all with Walter. But her mind felt nebulous and slow, and the future bleaker than it had ever looked.   
  



	11. Between You and Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- thanks for commenting and leaving kudos and thanks for bearing with me during this tiny hiatus. :)  
> \- I think I watched that scene in the car about 10 times and it gets me every single time how flustered Walt suddenly turns when Barbara uses his first name like...what an idiot, I love him lol

Soon after breakfast on the very same day, Walter walked her to the portal that would take her back to Arcadia. Silence pressed itself into the space between them, for the audience with Hekate had given them much to consider, and there were questions and uncomfortable truths better bypassed for now. In the end it was Walter who spoke first. They were nearing the hotel that stood at the corner of the alley in which the portal was located.

“I have been working on something.”

She glanced up at him, her eyes sliding from their intertwined fingers to his face.

“I’m not sure why it didn’t occur to me sooner. There’s a way we can communicate even when you’re gone. It isn’t fool proof and it certainly cannot be used all the time. But it’ll allow us to share the basic most relevant news.”

He paused and from within his coat pocket withdrew a simple golden bracelet. The elegant metal had been engraved with runes which Barbara now recognised to be trollish.

“In order for this to work,” Walter continued, “you must be near the portal. It needs magic to function, and there are few things more powerful than these two rifts Hekate created. You will notice the difference when you wear it. Then simply think the words you wish to convey, and I will hear them.”

With a warm smile he fastened the bracelet around her wrist and then guided her hand up to his lips to press a kiss onto her knuckles.

“You’re pretty clever. You know that, right?”

He laughed at that and puffed out his chest. “Well, I can’t say that this is the first time I’ve heard it.” Rolling her eyes in a playful manner, she jabbed her elbow into his chest in a way that made him hmph and rub the sore spot. “You realise you set me up and then punished me for it.”

His lips were threatening to form a pout, and she really, really did not want to crack just yet. Still, she knew that she was fighting a losing battle. Walter was simply too good at the subtle art of manipulation.

“Get used to it,” she chuckled in the end, dragging him closer by his lapels to silence him with a kiss, lest he have another smart come-back up his sleeve.

And just as he had done the previous night, he melted into her, powerless to resist his own desire for touch and closeness.

“You really are something else, Barbara,” he murmured, eyes still closed even when their kiss had ended. “I shall miss you.”

“Oh don’t be sappy now, you old goof,” she replied, playfully tweaking his ear. But as they entered the alleyway, she gently added, “I’ll miss you too.”

They stood embracing each other for a very long time, so wrapped up within themselves that neither one of them noticed how the good old portal now reflected a faint and unusual glow.

* * *

 

Arriving in Arcadia, Barbara felt suddenly bereft and just as swiftly guilty. She knew that her lack of enthusiasm had nothing to do with her relationship with Jim, yet she scolded herself that her immediate response wasn’t the one expected of her. By the time she reached home it was just past noon, and she fully anticipated him to be welcoming her. But the house was quiet and dark and even from the neighbouring house she couldn’t hear the familiar voices or see the familiar outlines of her son and his friend.

Out then, probably trollhunting. Unease settled in her stomach as she listened to the silence that smacked from the walls around her. It was far easier still to partake in adventures than to watch them from the sidelines.

But Barbara had never been one to dwell on matters evoking sadness or concern, and so she quickly found other things with which to occupy herself. Like the laundry or her upcoming work schedule or the reciting of troll herbology and medicine. When evening fell and she still hadn’t heard from Jim, and her text messages had transformed from cool and casual (“Hi honey, just letting you know that I’m home and safe”) to desperate (“Jim, honey, are you hanging out with Toby and the rest of the gang? Please just let your old mother know you’re good”) and finally to slightly embarrassing (“I promise I’m not mad. You haven’t been eaten, right? I’m not afraid to come down and kick ass”), she jumped at the ringing of the phone, fully expecting it to be him.

“Miss Lake? Detective Scott here.”

Barbara froze. Somewhere in front of her mind’s eye terrible images of a raging battle were flickering. A faceless giant with horns and blazing eyes was towering over her son who barely had enough energy left to crawl away. The giant laughed his terrible laugh, tipping his head back in unabashed glee before he collect him in one fell swoop, hoisted him up in the air like a ragdoll and with a crack which she felt deep in her marrow broke his spine.

“Miss Lake? Are you still there?”

Barbara trembled and held the receiver long enough away to stifle the whimper that wouldn’t stay lodged in her throat.

“Is this about Jim?”

“Yes, has Miss Nomura already notified you?”

Now she stared at the phone in blank confusion. “Miss Nomura?” She couldn’t imagine how she could be involved in whatever terrible message the detective had yet to deliver.

“Yes, your son and his friend were caught breaking into the museum. They left quite a trail of destruction. Claimed it was done to retrieve a…” Here he paused. “A chubby tracker?”

The laugh just slipped out, a mixture of red hot relief and amusement at the sheer absurdity of the moment. Immediately she realised by the deafening silence at the other end of the line that this response seemed incredibly inappropriate to the poor detective. He couldn’t have known that breaking and entering was a scenario much preferred to death by troll.

“That’s terrible,” she spoke at last, procuring with some difficulty the air of the rankled mother. “Do you have any idea where they’re now?”

“Yes, we’ve caught them and are holding them here at the police station.”

“Right, I’ll be down in a moment. And, Detective Scott? I really am sorry for my son’s behaviour.”

“I understand. We were all surprised to find Jim at the scene of the crime. He’s always been such a good kid.”

“Yeah…” She trailed off. There was nothing more to say that wouldn’t have landed her in the loony bin. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

She was halfway up the stairs to routinely reach for her satchel when the phone rang again. Rushing back downstairs, she picked up, one shoe barely slipped on, the other dangling precariously from her toes.

“This isn’t really a good time, Judie.” She was anticipating the voice of the junior nurse from the hospital, needing to double check something or wanting to book her in for an extra shift.

“Ah, so you must have heard.”

The left shoe dropped with a thud to the floor. “Walter! Um…uh…Mr Strickler!”

“I was hoping to intercept before the police called. That must have been a terrible fright.”

“You know?” she frowned, clutching the phone between shoulder and ear and bending down to tug on the wayward shoe.

“Yes, Miss Nomura is an old friend. She thought that perhaps I could help mediate the situation.”

Somewhere Barbara wished that she could take it like that, as a friendly gesture or a desire to lend a helping hand. Sadly, she figured, that Walter’s intention revolved far more around exposing the trollhunter and getting on her good side.

“Thanks, Mr Strickler. I really appreciate it. I guess I’ll see you down there then.” She hung up before he could offer anything else. It was difficult enough maintaining a clear head without his voice trying to sway her.

The car ride to the police station passed her by in a blur, too busy was she trying to plan the unplannable. Arcadia lay before her strangely calm and quiet, as if somebody had pressed the mute button and the whole area had lapsed into silence. It was nothing like Paris that quivered with sounds and noise even until deep into the night. She wouldn't have minded the distraction.

Carefully, she eased the old car into the parking space in front of the police station, only two other vehicles flanked hers on either side. Behind the counter in the entrance hall, an older lady in crisp uniform welcomed her with a stern look and a dark furrowing of the brows.

“So you are the mother.”

"You make it sound like he’s killed someone,” she joked which was probably inappropriate but probably also better than giving her a piece of her mind.

“Breaking and entering is a serious offence, Miss Lake. But if you have such lax attitudes, perhaps it isn’t surprising that your son has no respect for the law.”

Barbara felt her muscles coil, it was only a matter of time before the proverbial mommabear would jump out of her throat and maul that infuriating oracle of judgement.

“I’m certain Miss Lake meant no disrespect, Ma’am.”

Walter’s dulcet tones were like water on a raging fire. Slowly, she found her even breath once more.

“Well, I should hope not. How is poor Miss Nomura anyway?”

“She is fine. We have discussed the whole matter and she has gone home.”

“And Jim?” Barbara asked, clicking herself back into the conversation.

The woman behind the counter emitted another hmph of displeasure but then turned her attention back to other things. “Is in the holding cell.”

“Like some low life criminal?”

Her voice shattered as it hit the higher registers, and she caught Walter grimacing. Placatingly, he lifted up his hands and added, “I think it’s more a matter of space than anything else, Miss Lake.”

His calm demeanour was surprisingly helpful, and so she permitted him to rest his hand on the small of her back while guiding her towards her son.

When they approached, Jim and Toby both paled. The latter had slumped down on the only bench in the cell and now seemed to want to shrink further against the wall, while the former quit his pacing and immediately sought out her eyes.

“Mom!”

At the mention of her name the guard looked up from reading his newspaper. “Everything settled then?”

He sounded bored, but this quickly changed when Barbara assumed her best mom voice.

“What were you thinking? Breaking into the museum? Is this some kind of new challenge? First skipping class, now this? Who are you trying to impress?”

Apparently Jim hadn’t expected her to lecture him, for he visibly flinched before gripping the bars of the cell. “Mom, I can explain.” His eyes slid over to Strickler and the guard. “Just not here. It…uh…it’s complicated.”

“Terrifying, actually,” Toby piped up but fell silent again after being shot a look.

“To be absolutely honest with you, I don’t care. I’ve had enough excuses from you.” She pushed a heavy sigh out of her lungs and took her time seizing up the space. “I should just leave you here to teach you a lesson.”

At this, the bored-looking guard stirred uncomfortably. Perhaps he feared having to spend more overtime hours watching a couple of troublesome adolescents. Whatever he had to say, however, was cut short, as Strickler took a step forward and gently squeezed her shoulder.

“I understand you are disappointed and upset, Miss Lake. But I think by now Young Atlas here has understood the consequences of his actions. Perhaps another kind of punishment would be more suitable. Grounding him, maybe?”

She met the green eyes and felt as though she could see a plan forming behind them. If Jim was grounded he couldn’t act as trollhunter which meant that the changelings or Bular were doing something that was better left uninterrupted. Nonetheless, she could not argue with his suggestion. She’d just have to make sure that _she_ would keep him occupied instead.

“Actually I think Mr Strickler is right. You’re grounded, and I want you to apologise to Miss Nomura.”

Jim looked as though something sour had dissolved on his tongue but made no attempts to argue. Instead he dutifully trailed after them as the cell was unlocked and they made their way back to the car.

While the two teenagers jumped inside, Barbara hesitated by her open door and reached for Walter’s hands. “I can’t thank you enough for coming to the station and for calling me. It really helped having you here.” She let her gaze wander to the boys who were by now talking animatedly but quietly so. “They are so lucky Miss Nomura won’t press any charges.”

“Oh, she understood in the end. Of course, they gave her a fright, but she agreed that it was nothing more than reckless youth run amok.”

She felt his thumb brush over her knuckles and looked up in surprise. Inside the car, the conversation had ground to a halt and suddenly she could feel both pairs of eyes on them. Jim looked puzzled and genuinely concerned while Toby’s forehead had crinkled into a comical display of suspicion. The fact that his attention rested mostly on Walter made her stomach squirm uncomfortably. Best to join them, that way she’d be updated soon.

Letting go of Walter’s hands, she slid into the car and let the door fall shut behind her.

“You really didn’t have to go through all this trouble, Mr Strickler,” she said while slipping the key into ignition.

Walter’s face appeared by the open window, his expression now smug, his arms almost casually resting on the frame. “Please, Walter. Don’t think I didn’t notice your little slip-up earlier.”

He chuckled charmingly and although she shouldn’t, Barbara found herself blushing. For a moment she was no longer in the car but standing under a full moon in front of the Notre Dame cathedral, her arms wrapped around his neck. Soft but firm, hesitant yet hungry.

She blinked and found both teenagers staring at her. Toby was producing a kind of uncomfortable giggle. Jim's mouth was hanging open. Walter, on the other hand, only looked more pleased. He had his head cocked slightly to the right and for a moment she wondered whether his ears had picked up the increase of her heart beat. Time to focus then, to keep playing this game.

“There must be some way I can repay you. Coffee, dinner…appendix removal?”

She chuckled awkwardly and was pleased to find him joining in. He still sounded exactly the same, breathless, fluttering,  bursts of laughter punctuated by little snorts. _What a dork,_ she thought lovingly.

“I…Coffee would be a delight. And a rain check on the appendectomy.”

His voice had dropped to its lower registers, making it smooth and entirely too rich. It made her stomach clench in a way she hadn’t experienced in a while. Her eyes flew over the spots where his horns were located, where now, of course, there was only thick salt and pepper hair.

“Looking forward to it. Walter.”

She did know a few of his weak spots. Perhaps the direction of her thoughts was conveyed by her lingering gaze, for he suddenly looked uncertain and nervously cleared his throat.

“Watch yourself, Young Atlas,” he said, hastily turning his attention to Jim whose face looked pale and troubled. “Next time the consequences of your actions could be more severe.”

As he walked away, her son hastily rolled up his window. “Did you actually just ask my teacher out on a date?”

Somewhere in a different universe where she wasn’t so busy juggling past, present and future, she might have offered more understanding for his discomfort. But as it stood, there were more pressing matters to address. She lifted her hand and nudged the car into drive with the other.

“I’m assuming this was about trollhunting?”

When they had left the police station behind and made it down a few blocks, Jim finally abandoned his grudge and huffed out a sigh. “Yeah, that goblin infestation Blinky mentioned? We tracked it down to the museum.”

“The museum? How random.” She pictured the building, the sweeping corridors and wide open spaces and gradually grimaced. “Must’ve been a lot of them.”

“Yeah, but that’s not the only thing we found,” Toby chimed in.

“Oh no?” Barbara asked, glancing at him through the rear-view mirror and therefore missing the look Jim shot his friend at the same time. But she did detect all tell-tale signs of a lie when Tobias continued.

“Uh…no….ahahaha…there was also my uh…my chubby tracker, of course. Can you believe goblins have an exercise regime?”

His uncomfortable laughter faded into an even thicker silence that made her eyes narrow in suspicion. What else had the boys found that they were so unwilling to tell her? But neither of them seemed likely to offer up answers. Suddenly, the events of the day started to sink in and tiredness settled like lead on her shoulders.

“Well, whatever it is, next time you better think carefully about your actions. Mr Strickler was absolutely right. There can be more severe consequences, and he or I or God knows who else won’t always be around to bail you out.”

“But mom-“

“No Jim,” she interrupted him, shaking her head, “I might know about the trollhunting, so I can vaguely understand. But everyone else does not. And there are laws in this country, laws that will hold you accountable. So you just think about that next time you go on a mission.”

  



	12. So Near and Yet So Far

After Jim’s run in with the police and Barbara’s obvious flirting with his teacher, the atmosphere in the Lake household temporarily turned cooler. There were few matters to discuss that wouldn’t have entangled either party into a series of lies, and so they’d entered into a silent agreement not to talk at all. Together, they suffered through the days only filled with small talk and polite pleasantries, each secretly missing the ease and humorous kindness of their usual interactions.

Something more than goblin hunting had transpired at the museum that night, planned or not. It was there in the looks shared between Jim and Tobias and also in the grunted huffs of Aaarrrgghh and Blinky’s never-ending speeches. And what was worse, Barbara felt that there was something obvious she was missing. Something involving goblins, the museum or Miss Nomura that should have tipped her off.

“I thought knowing that you’re the trollhunter would make things easier,” she nearly found herself saying one evening but hastily swallowed down the jumble of vowels and consonants. It wasn’t fair. Not when she felt she couldn’t explain to him why she had chosen to flirt with his teacher. Because that’s what he would be asking in return. So there was no other way but to sit it out. Sooner or later the uncomfortable atmosphere would disappear.

But before it got better, things got worse.

It all started one evening when Barbara returned from a shift to find Jim bent over the coffee table in shorts and a tank top, examining a whole rainbow of bruises on his legs. Remaining where she was, Barbara tilted her head. These were no ordinary bruises caused by bumping into things or tripping over. Most of them formed a line, like a thick ribbon of pain around his joints, as if a giant claw had gripped them until the blood vessels burst.

“Oh, honey,” she whispered, making Jim spin around so quickly he nearly lost his balance and toppled over.

His blue eyes skimmed the carpet for his trousers while his gangly arms awkwardly sought to shield his legs. “Mom! It’s nothing. Don’t worry. Happens all the time.”

While his bravado was admirable, it only served to make her heart sink further.

“That’s not exactly comforting to hear.” She left her keys on the hook by the door, abandoned shoes, coat and bag, and then padded across the room to beckon him to sit. “Let me take a look.”

Although visibly reluctant, Jim did as she had asked and sank down on the sofa next to her.

“More goblins, huh?”

She moved his legs across her lap and gently ran her fingertips over the injured areas, sometimes prodding lightly just to reassure herself that nothing was broken underneath the skin. Her son winced but otherwise bore her ministrations. His chuckle, however, was nervous and awkward.

“Yeah, goblins. Nasty little creatures.”

“With a surprisingly strong grip,” she sighed. “Honey, you don’t have to lie to me about this. I know what it is you’re doing. And what it looks like to me is that you’ve graduated from goblins to troll.”

“And then some,” he muttered, before swinging his legs back to the ground. “It’s fine, mom, really. It’s just what I do now.”

“I know that, but apart from being your mother, I’m also a doctor. If you can’t confide in me, fine. But at least let me look after you.”

She hadn’t meant for the tears to come. The last thing she wanted was to become one of those mothers who used tears to emotionally manipulate their children. But seeing him injured? Well, it just wasn’t something she was prepared for.

Jim’s sigh was heavy and full of reluctance but in the end he nodded and agreed to show her the other wounds he had suffered. There were more bruises along his shoulders and a peculiar long but fine gash that ran along his left side.

“Does that armour do anything?” she muttered while applying cream which she had retrieved from the bathroom moments before.

“Sure it does. Think about how deep that’d be if the blow hadn’t been cushioned first,” he grinned, but Barbara could not join.

“I’d rather not think about that at all, honey. Did you know that some troll saliva contains toxins that can dissolve a human body at the rate of one droplet alone? Or that diamond backs can pierce through surfaces as thick as steel or concrete?”

Jim blanched and shifted uncomfortably from side to side. “You’re not really making me feel better here, mom.”

She thought back to Walter and the cleansing potion.

“In this instance I prefer bracing honesty. You need to realise what you’re up against.”

Immediately, her son’s expression clouded over, and it looked as though a thunderous anger took a grip of him.

“I know exactly what I’m up against, mom,” he said, prying her hands loose and furiously pulling his shirt back over his torso and picking up his pants. “I’m the one who comes face to face with goblins and trolls and God knows what other monsters all the time. _Me_ , not you.” He huffed a strand of hair out of his face and rose to his feet. “When you told me you knew about this world I was relieved. Especially when you said you had my back. But this? Pointing out dangers and human-life consequences? It’s really not helping, mom.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets and with a look of utter misery on his face trudged across the room and up the stairs. When he’d nearly reached the first landing, he paused to glance at her.

“They don’t want me there. 9/10 trolls are just waiting for me to mess up, so they can kick me out of Troll Market…or worse. I figured that maybe I could talk to you about it. Guess I was wrong…”

Although the door fell softly shut behind him, the silence that followed was deafening. Snatching her glasses off her nose, Barbara buried her face in her hands and released a deep and heavy sigh. Perhaps she’d been acting too much like a worried mother hen, but she couldn’t help it. The sight of those bruises still terrified her, the possibility of graver injuries even more so.

* * *

 

The following morning after she’d awoken to an empty house and a carefully prepared box of packed lunch, she headed to work sooner than usual. It wasn’t just to escape the quiet and the steady flow of internal questions, but also her need to contact Walter that drove her. There were plenty of things she knew she couldn’t ask him, because to do so would have revealed too much of the future. Like why the trolls were shunning Jim when Blinky and Aaarrrgghh had seemed so fond of him. Or what metal was best to shield against troll attacks. But the thought alone of connecting with him, of being a bit closer to him than before would be enough to soothe her heart.

To silence any further unwanted thoughts, she switched on the radio during the drive and focused instead on what she wanted to say to him.

“Doing okay. Don’t know when I can visit” seemed too impersonal.

“Doing okay. Don’t know when I can visit. Miss you” a little too silly.

She wanted to sound light-hearted and flirty. Perhaps to remind him of their chemistry, perhaps to promise him something.

The recent warm weather seemed to have brought out the green in the luscious trees and grass around her. The air, too, when she exited the car, was rich and fragrant, smelling of summer and sunshine and warmed up soil. Like life itself. Wandering through the rows of trees, rays of light would sometimes catch in her red hair, making the delicate strands sparkle and glisten and calming her, as though the sun itself resided in her belly.

That’s why it was as though everything was plunged into darkness when she reached the clearing and stared at nothing but…well…nothing. Just air and open space. No portal, no crackling of magic.

For a moment or two she could only stare while her heart kept thudding away in her throat. The urge to rub her eyes was nearly overpowering.

This couldn’t be right.

This couldn’t be happening.

At last, energy flowed back into her system and with a kind of deranged desperation propelled her forwards and onto the ground, hands fumbling, feeling, grasping for any explanation as to where the portal had gone. Trembling fingers freed the rune-inscribed bracelet from the satchel and wrapped it around her wrist.

“Walter,” she thought, over and over again, but the metal remained cool and unchanged, their connection severed.

Above her, the crowns of the trees swayed gently in the warm breeze, their whisper steady and dependable. It helped. A little bit. But it could not fill the hollow void that had been carved out inside her chest.

She kept staring at the empty space while the minutes slipped silently through her fingers. Contacting him now in this century wasn’t an informed decision, but her need was too great to be questioned. It was a miracle that he picked up. Perhaps she'd caught him at recess. She didn’t pause to consider.

“Miss Lake…Barbara?”

Her breath hitched and shuddered and too late she tried to turn her head away, so he wouldn’t hear her tears.

“Are you alright? Did something happen?”

She could picture him sitting up straighter behind that heavy oak desk of his. She could picture him wrapping his arms around her.

Her chin trembled, anguish caught in her throat. She couldn’t speak.

“Is Jim alright? I did see him coming into school not so long ago.”

She forced herself to pry her teeth apart, opening her jaw, sucking in air.

“I’d really like to talk to you.” _Why don’t you remember me?_ “Maybe we could do dinner?”

“Certainly. Why don’t you call me back tonight and we can come up with a plan? I know a lovely little bistro, or if you prefer I could do the cooking?”

She rubbed her cheeks and felt the moisture cling to her knuckles. “That sounds great. I-I’m sorry. I wasn’t really thinking when I called.”

“No need to apologise, Barbara. I am here to help.”

They must have exchanged more pleasantries, but she only remembered hanging up and driving to work. The rest of the day faded into a blur of emergency surgeries, paperwork and regular client check-ups.

When it was time to leave the hospital, she still hadn’t succeeded in processing the day’s events, her brain too busy conjuring up improbable solutions and impossible answers. So she was blindly following the path towards the car park and didn’t notice him until he put his hand on her shoulder.

“Barbara?”

Confused and with dazed eyes she turned to find Walter standing there, holding a basket. Behind him, the hospital loomed large against a slowly darkening sky.

“Sorry, I was totally lost in thought. What are you doing here?”

“I thought about your phone call and about dinner and finally I decided, why wait to set up something? Why not do it tonight?”

Without thinking twice, she wrapped her arms around him and gave him a squeeze as if it was he who needed reassuring rather than herself.

“Thank you,” she whispered, mouth mere inches away from his ear.

Her nostrils caught a hint of his cologne. It was different, more modern, she supposed. But just underneath his ear, where his turtleneck sweater did not reach and  a small patch of skin was left exposed, he smelled exactly the same. Like him, like Walter, like home.

She wanted to remain like this forever, nose buried against him. But it wasn’t appropriate and so she reluctantly pulled away.

Immediately she could see that she’d thrown him for a loop. His eyes were quizzical and searching and slowly he lifted his fingers up to rub his temple.

“Are you alright?”

His irises turned unseeing. She found embers of red glistening in their depths. Awkwardly, he cleared his throat and rubbed harder at the side of his head.

“Yes, perfectly fine. Just a little headache it would seem.” He didn’t pause long enough for her to ask further questions. “Now, why don’t we find a nice spot for our picnic and you tell me everything about Jim?”

Selfishly she agreed and drove them up to the hill that overlooked Arcadia. She had realised that her desire to be with him, to make up for the loss she had suffered early in the morning, rendered her incapable of following her plan. With all her energy zapped, she could not analyse his motives and plan her actions, she could only hope that being with him meant occupying him long enough to slow down the Janus Order and to buy her son some time.

If Walter found her initial silence strange, he did not say. Instead, he busied himself spreading the blanket he had brought across the hood of her car and assembling the little boxes of snacks at the centre so they could take a seat on either side.

The glowing orange orb of the setting sun was shining brightly in the distance, painting the sky in myriads of blues, yellows and reds – otherworldly and unreal, like rainbow-coloured cotton candy. Which was probably also an apt description of what it felt like being with him under these circumstances.

“Do you ever get tired of watching sunsets?” she found herself asking.

The hood of the car was firm underneath her but not uncomfortably so. Walter, sitting only an arm-length away stopped fussing with the food and curiously tilted his head in her direction. He did not answer yet.

“I figure there’s a lot of sunsets we see in our lifetime. But I’m not sure that they always hold the same awe. Most of the time we’re probably too busy to even notice. It’s just another fact of life.”

“I suppose you’re right.” He shimmied his body fully up onto the hood of the car and let his eyes roam over the horizon. She felt his melancholy rather than saw it, and in that moment she thought he almost resembled the stony gargoyles at Notre Dame. Watchful, frozen, robbed of power. “And yet it is a privilege to be cherished. Who knows how many sunsets there are left?”

On pure instinct alone, she reached across to rest her hand atop his. She knew what he could not say. That Bular’s rise to power would bring an end to daylight. That Walter wasn’t ready yet for a life in shadows.

“Enough. I firmly believe that light always finds a way.”

She caught the sudden rise of his chest as though his lungs were expanding with an emotion that could not be put into words. And in the perfect quiet between them, she could hear crickets chirping and the whisper of the wind as it passed through the trees. His index finger brushed lightly against her own. The contact was so delicate that it could have been accidental had he not repeated it. Fingertip against hers, hesitant, probing. Butterfly wings fluttering in her stomach. By their own accord, her lips drew upwards into a smile.

Turning her body further towards his, she extended her left hand and cupped his cheek. His eyes widened imperceptibly, confused. She could feel her name forming in his mouth like a decade old question.

“How’s the headache? Any better?”

She urged her hand to move higher where her fingers could assess any throbbing behind his temple. But how to examine and evaluate when she wanted to caress and explore?

Walter cleared his throat and shifted his hand away from hers. Once or twice a little awkward chuckle escaped him. “Still there, but I am certain it can’t stay forever.”

“You’d be surprised,” she remarked, breaking all contact albeit with great difficulty. “Lingering headaches can hint at some pretty severe underlying causes. Best to keep an eye on it and to consult your doctor if it persists or becomes worse.”

She winked and some colour returned to his face. Yes, this was better. Casual, flirty, light. She gave herself a little pat on the shoulder.

Walter, in the meantime, straightened further and picked up the box of sandwiches. His body kept being shaken by those little chortling chuckles.

“Yes, thank heavens for my doctor. Whatever would I do without her?”

He waggled his eyebrows seductively and offered the selection of food to her. Despite herself, she laughed, before reaching for a neat little square of bread filled with tuna mayo. They lapsed into a comfortable silence then, content to focus on their meal for the moment. And what a surprisingly extensive meal it was. Walter had thought about almost everything. From the sandwiches to little pastries filled with cheese and meat, to a selection of fruit and a couple of delicious cupcakes. He’d also ensured that they had plenty enough to drink and although there wasn’t any alcohol involved, Barbara found herself enjoying the various juices and cooled down teas.

“So you prepare a feast for all your students’ moms?” she teased and was delighted to find him joining in her banter.

“Oh yes, naturally. It’s a very advanced tactic, and I am a very busy boy.”

“I bet you have a whole food production company in your basement.”

“I suppose that is still better than what others keep hidden there.” He chuckled wryly while her mind wandered to Blinky and Aaarrrgghh and the ginormous hole in her basement wall.

“Everybody has secrets,” she answered, making sure to hold his eyes.

Gradually, his chuckles stalled and died down and his glance darted here and there, no longer wanting to cross paths with hers.

“I am sorry. Between the picnic and my headache I have forgotten to inquire about Jim. When you called me this morning you seemed…distraught.”

She tried to get settled more comfortably on the hood of the car but the windshield was starting to hurt her back, and so she shimmied around for a few moments.

“I’m sorry, it was inappropriate. I shouldn’t have called.”

“Nonsense.” He shook his head and carefully rested a hand on her shoulder. “I have offered my help and I meant it.”

Her smile faltered on her lips, and so she proceeded. “I came home last night and caught him trying to fix some bruises. Where he got them I have no idea. But they were really bad.” A sigh took shape and filled the space between them, then died, leaving expectant silence. “I know kids that age get into all kinds of scrapes. But it frightened me. The reason behind those bruises, the possibility of things he might be doing when he skips school.”

“I understand why that leaves you feeling helpless, Barbara,” he offered gently and in his eyes she could find nothing but genuine sympathy. “Kids think they’re invincible sometimes. They lack experience…or perspective.”

His dark brows drew together as if he was recalling a specific memory. Was it about himself as a young man? Or had he witnessed how Jim had obtained those injuries? Whatever it was, it seemed to trouble him.

“The best we can do is to appeal to his reason. Ground him again if necessary and if that doesn’t help, remind him that he can be broken if he isn’t more careful.”

How ominous that sounded and yet with which reluctance it was spoken.

“You care about my son, don’t you?”

It came to her in a slowly dawning realisation. That 21st century Strickler, for all his suave acts and misleading ways had actually grown fond of Jim and was now caught in a web of conflicting interests.

Words did not make it past his lips, though she thought to hear them form in his throat and then dissolving into a strange mixture of half-sounds. His fingers curled around her shoulders, unintentionally tightening his grasp.

“It’s okay, Walter,” she said softly, for she understood his struggle far better than he could imagine.

His green eyes finally landed on her again, filled with questions and uncertainties, then slowly growing more distant and composed.

“I promise I won’t tell anyone. You’re not meant to have favourites.”

Somehow, he managed to wring out a chuckle.

“But since you’ve offered to help, I thought perhaps we could work together on a support plan for him. I hear you when you mention grounding, but in my experience that only reinforces the secretive behaviour. Maybe you can scour your pedagogy books to find ways to get him to open up? While I’ll research fun hobbies he could pursue in his past-time? Perhaps he just isn’t occupied enough.”

She caught him grimacing before he could disguise it.

“If I may, Barbara. I think perhaps the boy has too much on his shoulders. What he needs might not be further commitments, but simply a few hours here and there to be spent with his friends…indoors…supervised.”

That made her laugh which in turn sent Walter’s eyebrows shooting up in confusion.

“You’ve clearly never tried boxing in a teenager. It’s impossible, especially in my line of work. But I hear you. Apart from school and his chores at home, he should do something fun. I just don’t know if that’d be enough to deter him from whatever dangerous stuff it is he’s doing right now.”

This time, his fingers curled around her shoulder on purpose, giving it a light squeeze. “We can only do our best. In fact, I think I might even have an idea.”

That tasted strange on her tongue, but she couldn’t very well argue. So instead she bent forward, starting to collect all the boxes and pots in front of her.

“Thank you, Walter. Now I should really be getting home.”

He tensed so suddenly that she found her gaze automatically drawn to him. Sensing his mistake, he plastered on a quick fake smile and raked a hand through his hair.

“So soon?”

Only a moment had passed but his smile had shaken off the mantle of pretence and looked confident and charming.

“It’s been a long day, and I could use a soak in the tub before bed.”

“No, of course. I understand. However, there will be a strawberry moon tonight and in an hour or so it’ll be dark enough to see the Little Dipper and Orion. Just imagine the view we’d have from up here.“

She frowned. Something about his delivery put her on edge. It was too slick, too…rehearsed? And then suddenly it struck her: He was stalling for time. Here she had been, thinking she was keeping him occupied when in fact – could it be? – he’d arranged all of this to keep her away from Jim.

With anger bubbling up in her stomach, she grasped blindly for her satchel, sending some of its contents spilling out. There were the old glasses and a packet of gum, a few discarded pens, loyalty cards and finally the bracelet that he’d given her so long and yet not so long ago.

Suddenly, everything seemed to happen in slow motion. She caught his eyes sliding over to it, the slight tilt of his head as he strained to see. The puzzled, suspicious frown when her hand was on it, palm closing with desperate swiftness around the cool golden metal. What she was so afraid of, she couldn’t say. It was unlikely that he’d remember. But the threat of the ominous and unknown consequences of time travel niggled at the back of her mind, strong enough to make her interfere. 

“Perhaps another time. When I’m more awake and dressed for the occasion.” She gave him a coquettish wink which she hoped was enough to deter him and then dropped from the edge of the hood to pack away the picnic.

It was pretty tiring to maintain this act she reflected as they drove back to the hospital where Walter had left his car. She wondered if he was ever exhausted, ever felt jaded or morose. Glancing at him, however, it was impossible to detect anything. It was as if he’d carefully wiped all traces of emotion from his face.

“Thank you, Walter,” she tried softly when pulling into one of the parking spaces. “This was a lovely gesture. I hope you won’t stay mad at me?”

And there was that polished smile again, plucked out of thin air. “Nonsense, Barbara. I do understand. I only hope you do not blame _me_ for trying.”

She knew that she needed to meet his eyes now. It was _her_ turn to carefully conceal her knowledge and emotions.

“Of course not. It’s in your nature.”

Something registered in his eyes, but it was gone before she could assess it. Instead, he reached for her hand with a kind of hesitant gentleness. Asking for her permission in the absence of words. When she didn’t object, he placed a light kiss on her knuckles and then pushed open the car door.

“Goodnight, Barbara. And please, do be careful.”

It was that last sentence that made the hairs at the back of her neck stand on end. Unease made her fingertips twitch. There was a familiarity to this akin to a warning. And suddenly she remembered where she’d heard this before. On their first night in Paris, just as she’d been about to leave with Jacques.

Her good old car stuttered and groaned underneath her in her haste to start it, and with an urgency she could not have explained to any policeman, she sped down the streets of Arcadia and towards the house in the cul de sac. Everything there looked calm and normal, the serenity of the scene momentarily enough to settle her own nerves. All she could do now was hope and pray that Jim was there to welcome her.

But as she stepped out of the vehicle and approached the front door, something took her attention away from the lack of lights inside.

“Ah, Miss Lake. Please don’t startle,” a voice said and a moment later, a figure emerged from the shadows.

Straightening her glasses, Barbara looked up in surprise. “Miss Nomura? What brings you here?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Jim is busy preparing for his fight with Draal ;) for time line reference


	13. Live and Let Live

“It occurred to me that since the incident at the museum we hadn’t spoken directly and the last thing I wanted was there to be bad blood,” Miss Nomura said.

Standing next to her in the cone of light that flooded down from the front porch lamp, Barbara was reminded of just how petite she was. Slender and small and so perfectly neat not even a single strand of hair on her head seemed to be out of place.

“That’s really kind of you,” she answered while trying the handle which unfortunately did not yield under the weight of her hand. “But it probably should have been us reaching out to you.”

She pushed the door open and flicked on the light but felt as though a shadow still lingered somewhere in the background. Nervously, she glanced over her shoulder but only saw Miss Nomura whose face exuded the same polite calm as before.

“Jim is usually such a good kid. I really don’t know what got into him. I mean even if they were really after the chubby tracker,” she paused long enough to wave the other woman through to the living room table, “surely that could’ve waited until morning. They didn’t need to break in and scare the living daylights out of you.”

Miss Nomura chuckled which perhaps was a testament to her sense of humour. Perhaps it was something else.

“Walter tells me that children often measure time differently. Maybe waiting until morning seemed like an eternity.”

Barbara had just slung her satchel over the edge of a chair but now paused in her tracks; and even though Miss Nomura’s eyes revealed nothing, she felt as though she was being tested. Her detached manner of speaking, the casual introduction of Walter into the conversation. Something was fishy about this.

“Would you like something to drink? I’m afraid we’re all out of tea. But I could offer you a coffee?”

“Yes, I’d like that, thank you.”

Having bought herself some time, Barbara disappeared into the kitchen. She tried to remember what Walter had said when he had called her.

_“Miss Nomura is an old friend. She thought that perhaps I could help mediate the situation.”_

While waiting for the whistling of the kettle, she pulled sachets of instant coffee out of the cupboard and set them aside on the counter next to the cups. His statement could have meant anything, indicating an acquaintance or a close friendship, though reluctantly she concluded that a more intimate relationship could also not be ruled out. And if she was an ex-girlfriend, well, perhaps her pointed name-dropping made more sense.

Barbara took a moment to compose herself again before ripping open the two sachets and combining their contents with the boiling water. She didn’t want the evening to turn awkward.

“Here we are.”

Miss Nomura had been looking at her phone as she entered and quickly pushed it back into her handbag. When the two steaming mugs were set out before them, Barbara brushed a strand of hair behind her ear and asked, “Sugar or milk?”

“Milk, please. No sugar.”

She thought to hear her steering her coffee while she nipped back into the kitchen to get the milk.

“I don’t know if I’ve apologised enough yet for Jim’s behaviour. But he should be along soon and tell you himself.”

Miss Nomura’s lips became narrow and pinched as she lowered them to her coffee cup to take a sip. Something expectant lay waiting in her eyes.

“It must be difficult for you to keep an eye on him.” She managed to sound both warmly understanding and quietly, piercingly judging.

Barbara drank from her own coffee and carefully considered her words before answering. “Yes, it is difficult. I suppose it borders on a miracle that he’s been so well-behaved until now. Still, I think he’s a good kid at heart. He only has the best intentions.”

When she went to look back up at the other woman, it was as though the brown colour of the desk left a blurry trail in her vision. She blinked and shook her head but the smudge still remained.

Nomura placed her arms down on the table and in her own neat little way leaned in. “Are you feeling alright, Miss Lake?”

“Yeah…yes…I’m…”

She tried to take off her glasses and clean them on her shirt, but her hand failed to make contact. It fumbled around blindly, always grasping at thin air in a terrifying lack of mobility. Her head sagged forward towards the table, her arms barely managing to cushion the fall. Now of course she realised the connection she should have made. What was it, anyway, with changelings and their need to put sedatives in people’s drinks?

“The Trollhunter’s mother,” Nomura whispered, rising to her feet. Unable to move, Barbara could hear her circling the table. “So plain…so ordinary.”

She felt how one of her arms was being lifted up and couldn’t stop it from helplessly flopping back onto the table.

“Whatever does he see in you?”

Her finely cut face swam into view close enough to unnerve her.

“No matter. Jean has warned me, and I will make sure that he doesn’t grow weak again.”

Barbara parted her lips but only found her tongue lolling aimlessly around her mouth. Then a flash of bright pink blinded her and everything went dark. Snapshots were all she got afterwards.

Jim, bright and shining in his armour, wielding his sword with remarkable expertise.

Whistling. An eerie tune. Scuttling.

A giant face looming over her. Blue. Glistening.

Bar-bu-rah.

“I think she’s waking up.”

“Mom, can you hear me?”

Her tongue, still sluggish, only slowly complied. “Jim?”

“Yes, mom. I’m here. I’m right here.”

She dragged her eyes up to the ceiling but everything remained blurry and out of focus. Slowly she realised that she was no longer sitting at the table and neither was she slumped. Somebody had carried her up to her bedroom. She could feel the mattress supporting her back. Clumsily, she guided her hand back up to her face, patting forehead and temple and nose. Somebody had removed her glasses. 

“Nomura,” she groaned while attempting to drag herself into an upright position.

Jim was immediately there to help her. She could feel him reaching behind her to fluff up the cushion so it offered more support.

“This is all my fault, mom. I should have told you what went down at the museum. But I’d never come across a troll like her, and when I talked to Blinky and Aaarrrgghh it was like…like mentioning a big taboo or something.”

Tiredly, her mind drifted to Walter. It looped around the pieces of information he’d fed her about the changelings and their standing. Discrimination. Now erasure. Her chest filled with pain and she exhaled another groan. At once, Jim stopped talking about the goblins and Nomura and a fight with something called a Draal. Instead, he clasped her hand tighter and slumped down onto the chair.

“Are you hurt? I couldn’t see anything, but I don’t know what Nomura is capable of.”

With great effort, her blue eyes slid over to him. “I am fine. Just woozy. She didn’t hurt me, just drugged me.”

“Typical changeling behaviour. Nasty, underhanded creatures.”

She could tell that it was Blinky, but without her glasses she could only see his outline against the light in the corridor.

“Where is she now?”

Barbara found herself fearing the answer. If Jim had killed a changeling, they were sure to draw the wrath of the Janus Order. There would be no coming back, no negotiating or truce.

“I…” Jim began and faltered. Squinting, she could see him folding in on himself. “I had trouble fighting her. She was really quick and really strong.” He looked utterly miserable. “If Draal hadn’t shown up…”

“Draal?” she asked, the vowels and consonants tumbling slowly out of her mouth. “I thought you said you fought a draal?”

“Not _a_ draal, mom,” Jim remarked, cracking a small smile. “Just Draal. That’s his name. His father was the previous trollhunter before Bular killed him.”

“But you’re on the same side. Why were you fighting him?”

Her son’s face contorted in a grimace as he struggled to answer.

“Perhaps the explanation can wait for another day,” Blinky chimed in gently. “You have both exerted yourselves and must rest. The battle has only just begun.”

“And then you’re telling _me_ off for spreading doom and gloom,” Barbara whispered lightly so that only Jim could hear. She even found the strength to gently nudge him with her elbow. Thankfully that drew a chuckle out of him and as he shifted about on his chair, she realised that he was still clad in the silver armour. He hadn’t left her beside then for God knows how many hours she’d been out of it.

“Could you hand me my glasses? I wanna look at you.”

He nodded and leaned across to her nightstand to retrieve them. It was almost painful, Barbara thought, to see the world in full focus again. Something thudded behind her skull. There was a pressure around her eyes. Something bright tickled her vision. She frowned and blinked but the warm shining light was still there.

“What’s that?” she asked, peering into the gap between the bed and the chair her son was sitting on.

“Oh yeah, something in your bag. Blinky noticed it earlier. I didn’t know you’d started carrying a torch.”

“I haven’t,” she frowned, and as she moved to scoop up the satchel, she already knew that this was no ordinary light. The quality was different, almost palpable on her skin like the brush of a feather or the sharp jolt of electricity. Always changing or transforming. She only needed to run her fingertips against the golden metal of the bracelet for it to respond to her touch. A moment later it had wrapped itself around her wrist.

“Of course, the armour!” she exclaimed, glancing up at her son who was following her movements with a puzzled look on his face. “Your armour is magic, isn’t it?”

“Oh, I’d very much say so!” Blinky interjected, trying to shimmy his body through the doorway. “It was once worn by the great Merlin himself, after all.”

A great exhalation of relief rushed out of her lungs, leaving her momentarily light-headed.

“Mom? I don’t get it.”

Oh yes, an explanation.

“I went to check on the portal this morning, but it had gone. But this,” she paused to lift up her hand, “is my connection to the past. It gets powered by magic, but with the portal gone and no magic left I couldn’t reach out to my…allies. Now at least I can make contact again and try to figure out what happened to make the portal disappear.”

She let the fingers of her left hand lovingly trail over the runes. Then a thought struck.

“You wouldn’t know anything about this, would you, Mr Blinky?”

“Well, let’s see.” He gave up all attempts to enter the bedroom and settled for scratching his chin instead. “Only a powerful source can create and destroy a portal. It is possible that the original creator noticed their faux-pas and sought to remedy it.”

He seemed pleased with himself when he’d finished.

“Not a bad idea, but I fear it’s pretty unlikely. I’ve only recently spoken to the creator-“

She had to cut herself off, for Blinky emitted such a high-pitched gasp and begun clutching his chest that she thought he might suffer a heart attack had he not been made of stone.

“You have liaised with one of the great deities themselves?”

“Kind of?” she chuckled nervously.

“Wait, mom. Are you saying you’ve spoken to…God?”

“Well, _a_ God. Not God…God.”

“Perhaps the great deity sensed trouble and sought to shield both realms by severing the link?”

That was enough to sober up her mood. “Yes, perhaps.”

But was the threat Nomura or Jean-shaped? Hadn’t Nomura whispered something to her before she’d fainted?

Suddenly, a loud bang resounded from downstairs, tearing her thoughts away from murky and worrying shores.

“What was that?” Jim was up on his feet in a flash, his face showing embarrassment and discomfort.

“Uh…remember Draal, mom? He uh…he sort of needs a place to stay.”

Her eyes slid over to Blinky. “He’s a troll, right? Honey, I don’t think he’ll really fit into any of our rooms.”

“Oh no, of course not,” Jim chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “And we’d constantly have to keep the blinds drawn and all. No, I was thinking about the basement. He’s already sworn to protect you from intruders.”

“Intruders like Miss Nomura?”

“Yes, changelings might be clever and underhanded, but Draal has sheer muscle on his side,” Blinky intervened in his own pompous way.

“Okay…fine…sure,” Barbara nodded, sinking back into the cushions, her left hand now firmly clamped around her bracelet. “Let him stay.”

A film of darkness seemed to cling over her forehead once more and reflexively she squeezed her eyes shut. Next to her, there was a rustle and a gentle clank of armour as Jim rose to his feet.

“Rest up, mom.”

He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head and she felt her lips drawing upwards into a smile.

“I will, sweetie. Don’t worry. Everything will be okay in the morning.”

Darkness thirsted for her. It was growing in front of her closed lids, whispering to let herself fall. The gold metal of the bracelet was hot against her skin. Still, she held onto it.

“Walter,” she thought, “I am fine but the portal has vanished. Hope to find answers soon. Stay safe. I miss you.”

* * *

 

The next morning, Barbara woke up to the very distinct feeling that something out of the ordinary was taking place around her. Caught in semi-wakefulness, however, she couldn’t discern why. She knew that she was used to being greeted by all kinds of sounds when gaining consciousness in the morning, especially after a long shift at the hospital. The muffled squeak of Jim’s alarm clock, his hurried footsteps down the stairs. The buzz of the mixer. Sometimes a faint sizzling. All markers of a fresh day.

She pulled herself upright in bed and felt her head throb, her ears still straining to catch what was different today. Ah yes, voices. Jim was calling out to someone and that someone was answering more faintly from a distance.

When she thought she’d given her head enough time to adjust, she located her glasses somewhere in the bed and padded over to the bathroom. Only after a long shower did she feel fit to face the real world. There really wasn’t much time left anymore before work.

“Morning, honey!” she called cheerfully when she’d reached the bottom of the stairs and then, seeing the basement door standing open added, “Morning…Draal?”

She caught sight of her son in the kitchen, holding a mangled looking sauce pan and then stuck her head around the corner to peek into the basement. Something shimmered in the distance, blue and pale like mother of pearl. Striking, very striking. And when he moved she saw how big he was.

“Good morning, Bar-bu-rah.”

Her eyebrows drew together and she chuckled just as Jim skidded to a halt behind her.

“So you’ve met.”

“Well, only just. I owe you one for helping out with Miss Nomura last night.”

Draal stepped forward, every movement, even his posture exuding pride and confidence. “No problem. I have sworn to protect the trollhunter’s mother.”

She could see that his horns bore all sorts of cuts and markings.

“I’ve heard. That’s very generous. But I’d rather you kept an eye on my son.”

Draal’s large eyes drifted to Jim and his nostrils flared imperceptibly. “The trollhunter is squishy and soft but surprisingly agile. He will learn, I will help teach him.”

Her heart swelled, and hadn’t he stood so far away, she would have squeezed one of his huge arms. “Thank you. I hope you know that if you’re ever in trouble, we’ll be there to help you out too.”

Draal shifted from one foot to the other, suddenly looking uncomfortable.

“Don’t make it awkward, mom,” Jim remarked lightly and tugging at her sleeve led her back into the kitchen. She could see now that the sauce pan he’d been holding earlier wasn’t the only one that had been mangled.

“What happened here?”

It wasn't unusual for her to leave scenes of destruction in a kitchen, but Jim? 

He grimaced. “Draal. Trolls don’t really eat human food. I tried snatching them away before he could eat them all but…”

Barbara chuckled. “We’ll send him our bill.”

That took some of the stiffness out of his posture. “I’m so glad you’re alright, mom.”

She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him into a hug.

“I should have told you, but I didn’t. I thought it’d be better you didn’t know…at least until we found out who else is a changeling.”

Her stomach was drawn into knots but she didn’t let it show and kissed his forehead. “You got there in time. And now that we have Draal she won’t attempt again.”

Carefully, Barbara disentangled herself, grabbed her coffee that stood waiting in its usual spot and shepherded Jim to the table.

"You don’t have to carry all of this alone, honey. I know I frighten you with the things I say, and I really don’t mean to add more burden to your shoulders. I’m sorry if I did. But I’m here. We’re all here to help you, alright?”

She took a sip. The coffee was lukewarm and lacked its punch.

“I’ll try,” he said after a while.

“So what was Miss Nomura like?”

“Scary. Like…really scary. I think she likes to toy with her prey. And she’s so quick too, like-“ He swished his arms through the air indicating blades. “Lightning quick.”

Automatically, Barbara reached up to her hair to chase away the sticky web that she’d washed out ages ago. Jean’s scuttling footsteps rang in her ears.

“Hey…uh…mom?” Jim gently interrupted her thoughts. “You mean it that you want to help?”

She blinked and focused on him. “Yes, absolutely. What can I do?”

“Well, Toby and I have been talking with Blinky and Aaarrrgghh and they all agreed that it’d be handy to know who’s a changeling and who isn’t. I know this is gonna sound ridiculous but if a changeling touches a gaggle-tack they will be forced to transform.”

“A gaggle-tack?” Barbara frowned, trying to imagine what heinous device of torture this might be. “And where do I get that from?”

“Oh, it’s uh,” he paused to chuckle, “it’s a horse shoe, actually. Could you take one to the hospital? Maybe test your colleagues? That way you know you’re safe.”

“And you?”

“I thought I’d take it to school. See if there’s any suspicious activity.”

“Yes, of course. Good idea,” she answered, a smile twitching nervously on her face. That’s just what she had feared.


	14. Anything Goes

Barbara Lake, adventuress, was on two quests that morning when she followed the familiar path to Arcadia’s hospital.

Quest one, she paused long enough to glance at the horseshoe that lay on the passenger seat next to her, was to identify any changelings that might cross her path. This alone proved to be cause for some consternation, because she doubted that any identified changeling would respond positively to being uncovered. In fact, she doubted that any changeling with half a brain cell would deem it wise to come within inches of the so-called gaggle-tack. 

Quest two, on the other hand, wasn’t one that left her with just a practical issue, it was the moral considerations that troubled her. Somehow she had to stop Walter from being discovered, though she was certain that he would take every precaution himself. But to do so was to move against her son’s plans, to betray him even, and that sat heavier than a horseshoe in the pit of her stomach.

The staff car park of the hospital was already pretty busy when she arrived, and so she wasted no time to tuck the gaggle-tack away in her bag. Snaking her way through rows of vehicles, she eventually arrived at the main entrance which slid open for her immediately. Sheila, who was mounting the reception, glanced up at her and offered her a fleeting smile. She was holding the telephone wedged awkwardly between her ear and her shoulder and was taking turns talking into it and addressing the gentleman in front of her.

“Good morning,” Barbara mouthed, reaching for the pen to scribble her name onto the sign-in sheet.

“Morning,” Sheila replied, quite happy to add a third person to her conversation. “It still remains to be seen whether it’s a good one, doll.”

Barbara chuckled and sized her up. Could it be that Sheila who was an institution at Arcadia General was a changeling? And if she was, did it really matter? She found herself sighing. Of course it mattered. It mattered to Jim, and she had promised.

So awkwardly she lifted her bag up onto the counter between them and rummaged in it in a pretend search for her name tag. For a moment or two Sheila kept on juggling her conversation, but then her eyes were drawn to the curious object peeking out of her bag. She glanced at the man in front of her and back at the gaggle-tack. Barbara felt herself tensing. Would this lovely lady transform like Jacques had once done? Would she leap across the counter and try to kill her? She was holding her breath.

At last, Sheila’s lips parted but instead of fanged teeth she just offered a crooked smile and a tilt of the head. “Why you carrying a horseshoe, honey?”

Barbara exhaled so rapidly it felt as if all air left her lungs at once.

“Oh, it was lying in my driveway this morning. Nearly tripped over it.” She chuckled and Sheila joined in albeit half-heartedly so.

“Well, don’t carry it in your purse. Those things weigh a ton!” She poked it with one of her manicured fingers and then focused on the phone once more. “Yes, of course I’m here. You can hear my voice, can’t you?”

Barbara quickly drew her handbag shut, put it over her shoulder and proceeded deeper into the hospital. She could tell that Sheila thought her eccentric now, but it didn’t matter. At least she wasn’t a changeling. At least there’d been no attempted homicide.

For the first few hours that morning, Barbara eased off on the gaggle-tack test. She didn’t want to alienate all her colleagues at once. But whenever she was seeing a patient, she was sure to keep it with her. There were surprisingly many creative ways of incorporating a horseshoe into a general check-up. To test strength in the elderly. To occupy young toddlers curious enough to focus on it rather than the impending examination they so dreaded. To test dexterity. To test the grip. The list was endless and come afternoon, no-one had avoided or been transformed by the gaggle-tack yet. But more importantly, there’d been no urgent calls, informing her that her son’s history teacher was, in fact, a changeling.

Tearing her eyes away from the telephone – she had superstitiously convinced herself that it would start ringing the minute she lost focus – she glanced outside into the corridor. It was empty, a welcome lull in the steady traffic that had filled the hospital since morning. With twenty minutes to spare before she was due another patient check-up, she slipped out for a restroom break. Splashing her face with water, her gaze wandered to her bare wrist in the mirror.

Walter hadn’t responded to her message, and it left her feeling unsettled and concerned. She doubted that Hekate’s portal was the only source of magic he was aware of. So what was prohibiting him from reaching out? Was it simply not safe to do so? Had Jean enacted some terrible revenge? (Nomura’s words still drifted hazily through her mind) Or had he been captured by Bular? She turned off the tap and tugged a few paper towels out of the dispenser on the wall. Too many unanswered questions.

Before returning to her office, she stopped by the kitchen to make herself a cup of coffee. She wasn’t sure what had been put into her drink the previous night, but she felt more drained than usual. Perhaps it was due to tiredness too that she didn’t notice the woman who had sneaked into her office until she cleared her throat.

Seated at her desk once more, Barbara startled so much she splashed coffee over her trousers and then nearly toppled over an empty can that doubled as a pen holder when trying to reach for a tissue.

“Reinforces your belief in the medical system, doesn’t it?” the woman commented dryly.

Piqued, Barbara pressed her lips together and cleaned herself up. “I’m sorry, who are you, Ma’am?”

“I’ve come to see a doctor.”

“Well, you’ve come to the right place. But I’m afraid I don't accept walk-ins unless they're emergencies. There's other staff for that. I’m a surgeon." 

To her surprise, the stranger barely seemed to listen. In fact, her eyes clung with great interest to the horseshoe that was still lying on her desk. Noticing Barbara’s look, she finally averted her gaze. “Medieval medicine or some advanced technique I haven’t heard of yet?”

She had a certain blasé demeanour that reminded Barbara of someone. Slowly, she took her in. White hair that had been cropped short. Skin that was wrinkled, weather-worn and of a  peculiar hue, as though in her youth she’d worn so much make-up that it had seeped into her pores. She tried to envision her briefly, young and radiant and full of life. Hanging out at fancy bars, enticing strangers with her aloof air.

She gasped and with a swiftness that made her muscles ache reached for the horseshoe. “Jean!”

There was no triumph in the other woman’s eyes as she imagined there might have been in the past. Only a sense of boredom and relentless resignation.

“Do you really think that’s smart? I mean, really, who would you prefer? A frail old lady or a web-spinning troll?”

Barbara shivered. She had a point, even if she could’ve done without the reminder. Slowly, she lowered the horseshoe.

“What do you want? You’re not really here to discuss your arthritis, are you?”

She briefly glanced at the crooked fingers that lay in Jean’s lap and felt a pang of remorse when the changeling hastily drew them closer to her body.

“I just came to – how do you Americans put it? – check in.”

Barbara’s brows furrowed. It was peculiar to hear her talk like that. The melodious lilt of her original French accent was there but only in the background while otherwise her language was dominated by heavy “r’s” and over-enunciated vowels. It was obvious that she’d lived in America for quite a while, but it seemed she still rather enjoyed acting affected and naïve.

“Check in on what, exactly?”

Footsteps could be heard out in the hall and the clock on the wall ticked noisily with every second. Ten minutes left before her next patient.

“Have you had any strange dreams lately?” On second thought, she thrust forward her hands for inspection. Instinctively, Barbara took them and began feeling the joints.

“No. Just unexpected visitors, though I suspect that won’t come as a surprise to you.”

“Oh?” Jean hummed, cocking her head. “Care to refresh my memory? It isn’t what it once was.”

Irritation made her grit her teeth and grasp her mangled fingers harder than she should have, drawing a hiss of pain from the other woman.

“Careful now. You don’t wish me to file a report, do you, dear?”

She exhaled through her nostrils and loosened her grip.

“No, I’m sorry. But you damn well know what I’m talking about. You sent Nomura after me! She told me.”

“Oh that yes. Gosh, that was ages ago. Poor girl really doesn’t give up, does she? Wonder what took her so long…”

“Anyway, I’m alive and you’ve been thwarted.”

“And you may bask in your little triumph all you want, darling, but it won’t have an impact on anything in the end.”

“What do you-“

She was cut off by the buzzing of her own cell phone. Reluctantly she tore her gaze away from Jean and opened the drawer in which the device resided. It could be important. It could be Jim.

“Honey, is everything alright?” she answered without having looked at the number, her eyes sliding back over to the changeling to fix her with a glare that said “If you’ve done anything to him”.

“Oh well, yes, sweetheart. Everything is fine” came the smooth baritone from the other end of the line, followed by Walter’s trademark snorting chuckles.

Her entire face flushed red.

“Mr Str-Walter. I’m so sorry. I was expecting a call from Jim.”

In front of her, Jean was rolling her eyes and pulling a face.

“No harm done, Barbara. Forgive my little banter. I could not resist.”

“That’s alright. How can I help?”

Slowly, Jean was rising to her feet. For a moment, she struggled to retain her balance.

“I was wondering if you’d like to join me for lunch today. You could come to the school, and I could show you the progress I’ve made on our little venture.”

“Yes, marvellous. Love to.”

She stood up too but Jean was already shuffling her way out of the room and into the hallway. There was too little time to sift through her ambivalent feelings right now. And really what did they matter if there was a changeling with her who had more answers?

“Excellent, I will see you-“

She’d hung up before he could finish his sentence. Shoving the cell back into the drawer, she charged after Jean who was miraculously nearing the end of the corridor already.

“Excuse me. Where do you think you’re going?” she shouted, before noticing that they were no longer alone. “Ma’am. I wasn’t finished examining you.”

“Yet I feel much better. Thank you,” Jean answered, looking at her over her shoulder, a grin painted onto her face. For a split-second her eyes glowed ominously, then she disappeared from view.

There was nothing Barbara could do to stop her, so it was perhaps unsurprising that come lunch break she was still mulling over the details of their strange encounter. Why had Jean been looking so old and fragile when Walter hardly seemed to have aged at all? What was her role in all of this? Was she a scout, sent to gather information about the trollhunter?

Barbara sighed and tried to keep a clear head while navigating her way to Arcadia High. Between Draal, the horseshoe mission and Jean, she’d had very little time to think about 21st century Walter which felt negligent, considering how he had tried to stall her the last time they’d met. If only she could make him remember somehow…

She parked the car and threw the door shut and then advanced onto the school grounds, her satchel – now considerably lighter that the horseshoe lay abandoned in her office – flung over her shoulder. Students were milling about everywhere in little groups and the air was filled with their chatter and laughter. With some regret she found herself considering the sudden turn that Jim’s life had taken. Did he make time for normal teenage stuff like this? Did he have time? It was bad enough that he already had to handle so many things on his own at home.

She was just about to enter the main school building when the heavy clanking of metal drew her attention. And there, not so far in the distance were Toby and Jim and Strickler and between them the dreaded gaggle-tack. Feeling panic surge up in her, she hastened her steps towards them.

“Whoopsie, slipped!” Tobias was saying, obviously feigning embarrassment. “Mind picking that up for us, Mr S?”

She was at his side before he could answer and smoothly bent down to scoop up the horseshoe.

“Here you go, boys. Mr Strickler.” She offered him a smile which perhaps explained the absolutely flabbergasted expression on his face. Or perhaps that was because he wondered whether she had rescued him on purpose.

“What are you doing here, mom?” Jim intersected, and she could tell by his raised voice that he wasn’t happy with her.

“Mr Strickler called me this morning to have a chat over lunch,” she answered evenly before seeking out Walter’s eyes again, “though I fear I might have to take a rain check.”

“Damn right you do. This is school, mom!” By now he was talking so loudly that several other kids started glancing in their direction. “You can’t just come here for a date.”

“J-jimbo?” Tobias tried to nervously interfere.

Thankfully Walter drew the right conclusions and decided to remove himself from the conversation.

“Perhaps it is better if I leave you alone to talk.” He momentarily sought out her hand to squeeze it. “Call me whenever you want.”

She offered him a small reassuring smile and studied his back as he retreated, wondering what conclusions he had drawn from this.

“Now, I understand you would like a word, Jim.” She addressed him with such composed calm that Toby anxiously muttered an excuse and then retreated also. Everything was pointing towards a mighty telling-off and he wasn’t going to stick around for that. Jim slowly seemed to realise this too, as he reached for her elbow with a sheepish look on his face and shepherded her away to a quieter spot underneath the bike shed.

“Look, before you’re gonna say anything, I’m sorry.”

The annoyance that had pulled all lines on her face taut began to fade and with it her muscles relaxed. “Accepted, continue.”

“It’s just…Strickler? Really? And right here in school too?”

She could neither deny nor confess. The truth of their relationship lay somewhere in between.

Before she could say anything though, Jim shook his head and put up his hands.

“Actually, it’s more than that.” There was something nervous about him now that made her stomach churn. He rubbed his hands together and she spotted wistfully how large they had become. Strong and capable like those of a man. “You knew about the gaggle-tack. Why did you step in?”

A number of excuses were burning on her tongue but she couldn’t bring herself to utter any of them. Not when her son’s eyes were so bright and searching and he so close to discovering the truth for himself.

“I just don’t think that school is a safe place to force a transformation.”

“So you’re saying- Are you really saying? Strickler is a changeling?”

Barbara grimaced and then answered as gently as she could, “I know he is.”

Robbed of words, her son paced up and down for what felt like a small eternity. Occasionally he’d pause to look at her before throwing up his hands in exasperation.

“You know he is?” he managed at last. “How long have you known? I mean, how did you even find out?”

“I ran into him in the past. Into a lot of changelings, actually…”

Jim’s eyes were large, and he was clearly trying to process but couldn’t. “That’s not a good thing, mom. Changelings are-“

“Dangerous, yes. Tell me about it. But they’re also human and decent and friendly. Look,” she held up her hand to stop him from interrupting, “the matter is a lot more complex and we neither have the time nor is this the right place for it. You gotta get to class soon. So let’s talk about it over dinner, alright? I’ll make sure to get back on time.”

“Yes…fine…sure,” he muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets. His hair had fallen into his face, hiding his eyes, and he made no attempt to change that. “I'll just hang out here for the rest of the day, basically on a platter for my changeling teacher!"

"He isn't going to do anything."  
  
"And you know that how? Just because you have a crush on him-"

She lifted up her hands firmly and bade him pause.

"I know, because he isn't stupid and because changelings don't generally like to operate in broad daylight. He won't want to risk exposure, not when there are other means."  
  
"Okay, fine," he sighed heavily. "If you say so. Let’s talk it out over dinner. But you gotta face it, mom. Changelings are up to no good. While you’re busy protecting them, they’re assembling the Killahead Bridge that will bring Gunmar back. This is serious, I hope you realise that.”

And with those ominous words he left her stewing on her own.

 


	15. I've Got You Under My Skin

When Barbara returned from work that evening, her head full of questions, the smell of her son’s marvellous cooking welcomed her at the door and gave her hope that some of the tension between them could be dispelled. There was something to be said for home-coming, for the familiar clanking of pans and dishes, that tell-tale whistling that meant that Jim had become perfectly engrossed in his task.

“Hey, honey!” she called, hanging up her coat.

“Hi, mom.”

It was difficult to gauge his mood. Briefly, she dipped upstairs to freshen up and change and then joined him in the kitchen. He didn’t look at her, couldn’t take his eyes off the succulent pieces of chicken coated in a sticky sauce that he was gently scooting down onto a bed of rice. Sweet and sour, she thought to herself, how appropriate.

“Here, let me help you with that.”

Together they managed to carry the bowls and cups to the living room table but when they sat down and started to eat an awkward silence spread between them once more. Chewing on a last piece of chicken, Barbara eventually took the plunge.

“You’ve got every right to be mad, kid. I should have told you sooner. But things are so difficult and you already had enough on your shoulders…”

Jim huffed a strand of hair out of his face and set down his bowl. “I wish everyone would stop trying to protect me.”

“Honey, it’s my job,” Barbara sighed, squeezing his knee. “But obviously that doesn’t mean I don’t make mistakes." She waited to see if he'd offer anything in response and when he didn't, she moved directly to the heart of the matter. "Walter and I got off to a rocky start. There were death threats and actual attacks and, man, can changelings be creepy.”

She told him about Jean then, about her swiftness that matched his experience with Nomura. About the web-spinning, the terrifying agility, the underhanded tactics.

“But the things is, I’ve seen how changelings are treated. How they are seen as lesser than, impure. Did Blinky and Aaarrgghh tell you how a changeling comes to exist?”

Jim nodded vaguely, he seemed uncomfortable and torn.

“Then you must know that they have almost no choice. They’re created for one purpose and live under the thumb of a dictator. I’ve been trying to tell Walt that he does have a choice and I think, perhaps, he got that. But it’s difficult to convince someone when no-one, and I mean no-one, accepts you. What would you do? Stick with the awful dictator who promises to free your kind once the trolls and humans are overthrown? Or take a risk of life and limb by seeking the help of other trolls only to be shunned?”

“It’s just…it’s a lot, mom." He pushed his plate away and lowered his cutlery. "Finding out that you knew this long before me. That you knew Strickler decades ago.” He grimaced. “Well, you know what I mean. I'm trying to wrap my head around it all. But there's all these lessons Blinky has been trying to teach me and school and...Most of the time I'm just trying to make it, you know? To survive... And now you're dating my teacher..."

Barbara knitted her fingers together over her stomach and carefully managed the wave of sadness that threatened to crash down on her. How could she help him carry this load? Make it easier on him?

"Hang on a minute," he suddenly broke the silence, “shouldn’t Strickler be remembering you then?”

“Yes. I mean, I’m a little fuzzy on the details here. But I think he should remember me." Against all odds, the situation made her laugh. It seemed so human to be utterly overwhelmed one minute, then focusing on something minor yet annoyingly unexplained the next. "Something must have happened in the past. I don’t know. Since the portal has vanished I could only contact him yesterday with the bracelet thanks to your armour. But he didn’t respond and now all the magic has depleted again.”

She lapsed into silence and a moment later found her son’s arm protectively wrapped around her shoulders. “It’s gonna be okay, mom. Whatever happened, he’s obviously unharmed. Otherwise he wouldn’t be here now. Plotting my death.”

They both grimaced and then broke into laughter. Barbara used the opportunity to draw him closer. As much as she appreciated his kindness, she’d always preferred to be the one giving the hugs.

“I have faith in him, kid. But don’t think for a moment that I’m being naïve. You are my number one priority and I will protect you with my life. I’m just trying to sway him, to appeal to the goodness I know is there inside him. It’s worked before, it can work again.”

“Have you told him that I’m the trollhunter? In the past I mean?”

She extracted herself from him and shook her head. “No, I’ve handled things according to Blinky’s advice. Talk about what can’t have an impact and withhold the information that could be used against us. Walter knows this too and agreed that it was for the best.”

Jim’s fingers unfurled against his trousers and then instinctively drew together over the amulet he had stored in his pocket.

“I know what you’re saying, but I just don’t like it, mom. What if he’s playing you? You know as well as I do that they’re excellent actors. They’re trained for this kind of thing.”

His concern hit her like a smack in the face. It was as if she could feel her skin prickle and burn with that terrible what-if. She hadn't considered it, not once since they had grown close. For a moment, a whole array of awful scenarios played out before her mind's eyes. Then she shook her head and chased them away.

“We're bound to find out eventually and when we do, we know where we stand.”

“But it isn’t so simple, is it, mom? I know I was little and all when dad took off. But I do remember how upset you were and how long it took you to get over that.”

Oh, that was much worse.

“Jim, sweetheart,” she began but then stopped to push up her glasses and wipe away some tears, “I love you for wanting to protect me, and I am so, so sorry that you had to see all that when you were growing up. But sometimes you have to take a chance on people, especially if you’ve grown attached to them. If it’s all just a farce it will hurt, yes. But it’s far worse to cower in fear, to suppress your emotions just because one asshole-“ Her son’s eyes grew wide. “Has upset and hurt you.”

Silence stretched out between them and it lingered even when Barbara drew him into another hug.

“Jim, honey, are you alright?” she eventually questioned nervously.

Slowly, he tilted his head up and his big blue eyes looked at her in some amazement. “Did you just use the A-word?”

That made her laugh. And then he laughed too and somehow she knew that they were going to be okay.

“Yes, kiddo. Parents curse, get used to it.” She winked but then sought to sober her expression. “Now tell me about Killahead Bridge.”

And just like she had done before, Jim now began to fill her in on everything he had discovered at the museum. About Bular’s wish to reunite with his father, to bring about the eternal night, how the changelings had been tasked all over the world with finding the stones that would build the bridge. It all sounded terribly dire.

“But when I got there again they’d moved it all. I don’t know where. So there’s no way to destroy it," he finished after a while.

Feeling his restlessness, Barbara reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. “Sometimes the toughest thing is to hang tight and wait, huh?”

“Yeah,” he muttered dismally, “I just feel like every minute I sit here or at school, they’re getting a step closer to bringing back Gunmar. And that’d be bad, like, really bad.”

She rubbed her finger over his knuckles while mulling over a solution to the problem.

“You don’t think Strickler could help, do you? I mean past Strickler. I know you said you didn’t tell him about the whole trollhunting business, and you definitely shouldn’t. But maybe you could ask him about the bridge? What’s needed to assemble it? Perhaps they’ve already started? I really don’t know how long it’d take to accumulate everything. Even if he’s playing you, there’s nothing to lose. They’re still going to try to assemble the bridge. Nothing bad has happened yet, right?”

It was a long shot, but she figured it was worth a try if only to put his mind at ease. “Sure, kiddo. It can’t hurt to poke around. But you’re forgetting one big thing here, I can’t go back to the past without a portal.”

And just like that, the hopeful expression on his face crumbled. A few moments ticked by silently.

“But what if I use my amulet to power up your bracelet again? You could try to reach him again, right?”

“Yes, good idea.” She shot to her feet and walked over to the front door where she had abandoned her coat and satchel. When she returned, the golden bracelet was loosely wrapped around her wrist and the amulet of Merlin was shining in its otherworldly blue glow.

“Ready?” Jim asked, inching it closer to her.

“Ready,” she nodded.

The minute she could feel the power of the bracelet slipping through her body, she closed her eyes and focused.

_“Walter,_ ” she thought, _“Walter can you hear me?”_

The dull quiet echoed noisily through the house. Fleetingly, she wondered whether Draal was listening in the basement.

_“Barbara, forgive my absence.”_

Immediately, her heart began to pound.

_“No harm done. Are you alright?_ ”

She could feel Jim’s keen eyes resting on her all the while.

_“Yes, fine. Thank you._ ” He sounded worryingly pinched.

_“I want- I need to come and see you, Walt. Did you receive my previous message about the portal?”_

“ _Yes, I did, and it’s been fixed now.”_ A pause and then just as she was about to answer. _“I have been longing for you._ ”

Her face seemed to crackle with the magnitude of all her emotions while letters got jumbled and words became lost in her mind.

“ _I’ve missed you too, you big goof,”_ she managed to convey to him after a while, her playful language hardly disguising how raw and needy she felt.

_“I’ll be waiting.”_

“ _And I will be there soon._ ”

She took off the bracelet and looked at her son. “He said he’s restored the portal, so I should be able to go back.”

Jim was now trying his hardest not to look at her too closely. Perhaps he had noticed the blush that had befallen her and drawn his own conclusions.

“Awesome. So you can go and ask him about the bridge, right?”

“Definitely,” she nodded, rising to her feet. “Listen, I’ll just head upstairs and change. Is Draal around?”

“No, I think he’s out, spying on Nomura.”

What a funny image. She couldn’t picture the great blue troll being stealthy at all. Barbara paused at the bottom of the stairs.

“Well, then tell him from me that he has to keep an eye on you while I’m gone. I’ll only stay overnight. Gotta get back in time for some last minute birthday preparations.” And when Jim’s face took on a surprised expression, she added, “Didn’t think I’d forgotten, did you?”

“No, not you. But _I_ kind of did? I mean, there’s really more important things right now, mom.”

“Nice try,” she commented, opting to keep the conversation light when she knew that his birthday reluctance stemmed from a much deeper, heart-breaking source. “There’s nothing more important than your birthday, love. You’re my everything and don’t you forget it.”

She left him to hide his embarrassment and disappeared upstairs to take out her 1920s clothes and glasses. It was a pity, really, she thought fleetingly, that she had still only acquired that one dress. It would have been lovely to show up in something else, catching Walt off guard, watching the warmth spread through his limbs. She smiled absent-mindedly at herself in the mirror and tugged at the hem of her turquoise dress. For God’s sake, she had it bad.

Shooing away all unwanted thoughts, she reached for hair brush and pins and worked quickly on assembling a loose French twist before heading back downstairs. Jim was already waiting for her, satchel in hand. His eyes travelled over her, inspecting every last detail of her appearance.

“What? Something on my face?” she asked, taking the bag from him and making sure that everything she’d need was inside.

“No, nothing. You look pretty, mom. It’s just…”

“Yes?” she arched a playful eyebrow, half expecting some kind of constructive criticism.

“You look like you’re out of a movie.”

Barbara laughed and slipped into her shoes. “Well, keep your eyes peeled, kiddo. Maybe you’ll catch a cameo in one of those old Noir flicks.”

He chuckled but then quickly grasped her hands as she was about to open the door. “Promise to be safe, mom.”

“I promise, honey,” she whispered, pecking the crown of his head. “And you do the same. Have Toby come here for a sleepover, alright? With Blinky and Aaarrrgghh and Draal or something.”

“You do realise that I’m meant to protect them and not vice versa.”

“Sure, but remember, you’re always stronger in a crowd.”

* * *

 

While driving into the forest, the usual combination of excitement and apprehension started to stir inside her. She was so lost in it all, in fact, that she nearly forgot to lock up her car, and the sight of the faithful swirling portal back in its usual place did little to help her focus. Plunging head first down the rabbit hole seemed the best way to go, tripping and twirling and falling as she had done at her very first time.

But perhaps that had been a mistake. Her vision was swimming, her bones started to be drawn apart, stretching her skin. Something cracked sickeningly inside her skull. Then, images. A whole reel of them. Walter kneeling before the old man she recognised to be Janus. Jacques dropping dead in the tunnels of Sacré-Cœur. Jean, distraught, screaming, tugging out her hair.

“Walter?” she tried to call, paddling through the swirling rainbow of colours. “Walter, get away from him!”

But he only bowed his head and listened while Janus continued his silent sermon. Anger, no, fury marred the air around her, almost potent enough to linger on her tongue. It seemed to alter the fabric of the portal itself.

_Thud._

The ground underneath her welcomed her back. Solid, painfully so. Automatically her hands flew to her legs and ankles to check for any broken bones.

“Barbara?” And suddenly there were two more hands, feeling her, assessing for injury. “Are you alright? I must say that looked dreadful. My fault, of course. When I completed the reparations I must have created it too high up.”

Barbara flung herself forward and into his arms.

“It’s so good to see you again,” she murmured, her lips grazing his neck and after a moment picking up the salt of her own tears.

Walter’s stiff and proper exterior crumbled and all he could do was bring her closer. He might even have caught the scent of her hair which brought all manner of memories rushing back to him. Eventually, he took a step back to push the glasses to the crown of her head and wipe her tears away with both thumbs.

“There, we wouldn’t want anyone to think I was molesting you in this alley, would we?” He tried a wry smile, and she chuckled.

“Been there, done that.”

Lingering surprise at her casual attitude made his eyebrows rise together before he shook his head to clear his thoughts and offered her his arm. With their sides touching, they started to make their way back to Walter's apartment, only ever drifting apart when the momentum of their stride momentarily propelled them away from each other. 

“When I got to the clearing that one morning, I was so desperate to talk to you. And when it was gone, I…” Barbara sighed, taking solace in all the familiar landmarks that lined their path. Reliable and unchanged. “I really just felt lost. Like I’d just become completely cut off from you. It was awful.”

In his eyes she found a reflection of her own emotions, but there was something else too. She just couldn’t identify it. It lived in his brows that were still tense and drawn together and in his lips which wouldn’t quite relax. Briefly, she found herself thinking of the images she had seen in the portal. The way he had knelt before Janus, listening dutifully to his speech. Like a vision…or a dream. She hastily clamped her lips shut before the gasp could escape.

“ _Have you had any strange dreams lately?”_

Jean.

This could not be a coincidence. Jean had expected her to encounter something like this. But how? What did she know?

“Yes, it was rather worrying.”

Was it her imagination now or did he seem more distant?

Walter only let go of her arm when they reached his apartment and he had to draw the key out of his trouser pocket. Every movement seemed stiffer than usual, she observed, and so she waited until the door had fallen shut behind them.

“But enough about me. What’s going on with you?” She could tell that he was opening his mouth to protest and quickly pressed on. “You’re obviously tense about something. Is this the wrong time?”

Her eyes quickly scanned every corner to make sure she hadn’t inadvertently walked into a trap. But everything remained familiar and calm, and so she looked back to Walter whose jaw was working hard while he was trying to formulate a suitable answer.

“Many things are in flux.”

How poetically vague. How dissatisfying.

He turned his back to her and took a step towards the sofa.

“Sure they are. Changelings gotta be busy all the time, right?”

She followed him stubbornly, unwilling to let him put more distance between them.

His emerald eyes flickered over to her. “Quite.”

She watched him settle down on the sofa and then climbed behind him. For a moment she was awkwardly balancing on the upholstery before she allowed herself to slide down until her legs came to rest on either side of Walter’s body.

“Barbara…I?”

He tried to look at her over his shoulder which was nearly impossible as he was wedged between her now.

“Relax. I’m on your side, remember?”

“It isn’t so easy, Barbara,” he sighed, releasing in that single breath all the agony he seemed to have been holding onto.

“Maybe not. But you can count on me.”

She carefully inched her fingers up his arm, giving him time to reject her touch if he felt uncomfortable. But he didn’t budge.

“There’s enough pressure and stress going around. I wouldn’t put any more on you. Not unnecessarily so, Walt.”

Her movements stilled. Her fingertips hovered just above his shoulders. The changeling remained unresponsive.

“Tell me to stop if it’s uncomfortable.”

She pecked his head and then she started, gently massaging at first, feeling the tough tendons and muscles, pulled taught in apprehension. She worked from left to right and then back again, respecting the confines of his black suit jacket, never dipping below it until he sighed anew, this time in pleasure.

“Would you like me to do your back next?”

A gentle shimmy of the shoulders, a quiet, affirmative huff.

“Great.”

Barbara exhaled in relief now too and with a smile on her face continued her work. Her fingers followed the line of his spine first, feeling for any fresh injuries. Then she settled her palms against his shoulder blades and pressed gently against him. Walter grunted low and deep in his throat. She could feel some kind of pressure against her hands, as if his wings were threatening to break free.

“It can be useful having a doctor around the house, can’t it?” she quipped with a smile but received only silence. Her movements stilled. “Walter?”

She hadn’t expected him to transform, realised it only in the flash of green light that illuminated the room for a split-second. Slowly, he pivoted his body until his sad eyes found hers. Automatically, she shifted to the left to accommodate his new position but never once looked away.

“This is what I am, Barbara.” In his gruff, trollish voice, the statement sounded almost like a threat, and she could feel her own eyebrows rise up in puzzlement. “This heartless being of stone and claws.”

She would have chuckled had he not been so serious. Instead, she let her fingertips resettle on his back. It was harder to massage stone, to assess how much pressure was necessary to create comfort and enjoyment. But thanks to Gunmarson she did know of a few tricks.

“I know who you are, Walt. And if you’re trying to scare me, it’s not working.”

She moved both hands to his spine until her thumbs were aligned and then trailed them downwards until she neared the spot where in his human form his tailbone would have been. Now just a little off-centre.  A little higher. Right. There.

She pushed the tips of her fingers against his stony back, felt the flow of energy release and new she had found the right place. Under her touch, Walter shuddered and sighed. When his eyes next founds hers, they were brighter and curious.

“I have long realised that scaring you leads nowhere, Barbara. But I wonder…sometimes in the silence I wonder if you truly realise…”

“Your appearance is entirely irrelevant.” Muscles straining, she pushed away from him, limbs going everywhere until she finally settled by his side. “You are handsome in your human form and…” she swallowed while a rosy hue spread across cheek bones and the bridge of her nose. A breath was required before she could continue. “And something else as a troll. If you’re worrying about those things, you’re wasting your time. All that matters to me is your loyalty. I have faith in you, but I cannot be sure of your loyalty. Not when the weeks of our acquaintance are rivalled by centuries with your master.”

She cupped his face with both of her hands, fingers sliding along his jaw just above his collar of knives. For the longest time, he watched her, yellow eyes wide and alert. But when her nails scratched pleasurably behind his ears, his lids started to droop and slowly – like a cat who only reluctantly neglects its vigil – his eyes started to drift shut.

“Mmmh,” he rumbled in deep satisfaction, enjoyable enough to bring a smile to her face.

“I really like you, Walter,” she whispered.

The admission was fragile and soft, barely strong enough to linger in the space between them. But it didn’t need to. Not when it was there on Walter’s lips and then again on her own as his breath rushed into hers. Where sounds and syllables had faded into silence, it lived in the tangling of bodies, in the soft thudding as clothes met carpet. In the sighs and gasps and laughter of two individuals melting into one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I am so, so sorry for this huge delay. My wife suffered a big bereavement nearly 2 weeks ago, and it was a very  
>  hard and challenging time for both of us. This coupled with a chapter that was always meant to be longer than  
>  average and a real struggle to put words to paper (staring at the screen for an hour, getting only 4 lines written)  
>  turned out to be an awful combination. This didn't quite turn out how I wanted it - perhaps I'll once go back and  
>  edit it even more - but for now I'm just getting it out there to proceed with the story.   
> \- there'll be 16-20 chapters in total to this fic, so we're entering the final stretch. Thanks for staying with me and I   
>  hope you continue to enjoy even if I'm slower ;)


	16. All Through the Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- thank you for your continued support. You guys are the best :)  
> \- apparently it takes me two weeks now for a chapter - apologies!   
> \- 3 more chapters to come

Birds. Twittering in the distance. Warm sunshine on bare skin.

Barbara slowly released a sigh and rolled onto her side. Her lips curved upwards against another warm body.

“Bonjour,” Walter murmured and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head.

“Good morning,” she echoed, though most of the vowels disappeared in a murmur against his chest. She stretched once – limbs and joints cracking nicely into place, toes curling against the upholstery – then wrapped her legs around his and nestled fully into his embrace. With the sun now warming her entire side from shoulder to ankle, it was the perfect spot to be. “What do you think Madame Vasily would say?”

He huffed a soft chuckle into her hair which tickled her scalp and made her look up into his emerald eyes.

“She would be scandalised. We have barely begun courting. Not to mention that we are not married.”

His own jet black hair was marvellously dishevelled and before she responded, she gave into temptation and ran her hand through it, fingers dipping lower, trailing over his back like a bass player plucking at his strings.

“Then you better pray the walls were thick enough.”

His ears coloured and his lips drew up against his teeth as he struggled against his own bashfulness.

“Or I must confess to her that I have been corrupted against my better knowledge by an alluring witch from the 21st century.”

Barbara gasped and playfully whacked his shoulder. “Oh, you wouldn’t dare! Corrupted my ass.”

They both laughed, their bodies brought closer together with every chuckle. He buried his face in her hair and inhaled. His fingers danced down her side, dipping lower until he could trace the contour of her butt.

“Everything about you is exquisite, Barbara.”

The last of her laughter stalled and crumbled into a series of choked out, short sounds.

“Walt, stop it.”

Every time her lips grazed him, she could still taste the salt on his skin from the night before. And she remembered, the change from hot to cold when he lost control of his human form and shifted into troll. The myriad of gasps and sighs and moans drifting over her body. The ineffable, indescribable closeness of two souls connecting.

“Stop it? But we’ve only just begun,” he murmured playfully, ducking lower until he could press his face into her tummy, his legs dangling helplessly over the edge of the sofa.

“Well, I’m not saying this is the last time,” she replied, though talking at all had become a difficult feat.

His lips were warm, and sometimes the faintest hint of stubble would bristle against her skin, reigniting the fire just below her navel.  Automatically, she rolled to lie on her back, offering him the space to settle down between her legs.

“However…”

When she failed to formulate the rest of her sentence, he ceased his ministrations and lifted his head. “Yes?”

“There are several factors not working in our favour.”

He hummed and sucked on the sensitive skin once more.

“One,” she proceeded, albeit shakily, “my sugar levels have dropped and I’d rather not pass out when we go again.”

“Mmmh mmmh,” he hummed, soothing the spot now with tender kisses.

“Two, it’s nearly my son’s 16th birthday and I need to get back for some final preparations.”

She could feel his warm breath washing over her waistline now. The muscles in her thighs clenched, her breath hitched. Yet somehow she pushed on.

“And three, I have to ask you something very important. Something about the Janus Order.”

He made a sound at the back of his throat that wasn’t so much disgruntled as it was impatient and resigned. And Barbara understood. Had her son not been wrapped up in this, the end of the world could gladly have waited while she lingered in this feeling of bliss. But Jim was there and he needed her help.

“Do you know something called the Killahead Bridge?”

His grip around her tightened and for a fleeting second his fingers dug painfully into her hips.

“Yes.”

“Have you begun assembling it?”

His eyes had taken on a haunted quality and she wished she could draw all the words back into her mouth, swallow them and never have to voice them again.

“Yes, it’s why we…why I am in Paris.”

Slowly, she pushed her elbows into the cushions and propped herself up while Walter moved to recline on his knees. A wave of emotion passed over his face and wrenched a deep, heavy sigh from his throat. Barbara reached for his shoulders, not least to steady herself, and finally sat up completely, minimising the gap between them in the meantime.

“In my time, it’s close to being finished.”

“What do you want me to tell you?” he asked, suddenly befallen by exhaustion.

A sliver of bright line shone on his face and showed, in the depth of black, the first fine thread of a silver hair.

“Anything you can, Walter, anything you want to.” She slid her hands down his arms.

“There was once a battle fought. The Battle of Killahead Bridge. The Trollhunter at the time, called Deya the Deliverer, sought to protect the trolls from the Gumm-Gumms and succeeded in exiling and imprisoning Gunmar and his minions into the Darklands.”

“The Darklands, huh? I’m guessing that’s not a cheery place to be.” She chuckled, only to dispel her own nervousness.

“No, indeed it isn’t.” He didn’t offer up anything else, but she could read in his eyes the terror and loneliness the place held in his heart. “Before Killahead Bridge was broken into hundreds of pieces, Deya sealed it with the amulet of daylight, an ancient artefact that lends the Trollhunter their power."

“So what you’re saying is that even when all the stones have been brought together only the amulet of daylight would enable Gunmar to return?”

“Yes.”

His eyes passed over her face, tracing her jawline, clinging to her lips. He sighed and his chest heaved underneath the wave of sadness. Then, slowly, he unfurled himself and rose to his feet. Stark naked and completely illuminated by the sun he looked strangely vulnerable.

“I believe your son awaits you.”

He seemed to imply more than his words immediately suggested, and she stepped towards him instantly, wrapping her body around his.

“I’ll be back in two days’ time, alright? I’ll spend the night again.” She buried her nose against the back of his neck and breathed him in. But try though she might, she could not shake the strange sense of finality that had overcome her.

“Yes, of course.” He turned slightly to peck her nose. His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll look forward to it.”

* * *

 

For the first time, she dreaded the trip through the portal, half anticipating another stomach twisting experience. But everything was eerily quiet, save for the same old flow of magic. No fast-paced pictures, no muted scenes. Still, she sighed when she reached her car at the other end. It seemed that her brain would never cease to be full of questions.

As she drove through the streets of Arcadia that morning, the city seemed peacefully mundane. Familiar faces could be spotted here and there and nobody seemed to possess an inkling that somewhere trolls and changelings were assembling a bridge that was to destroy the world as they knew it. It all seemed so surreal. She wondered if Walter ever felt like that.

Jim wasn’t home when she reached the house. She hoped that he was at school rather than another adventure.

“Draal?” she called, toeing off her shoes and heading deeper into the house. “Are you around?”

She could hear him moving  in the basement, the stairs creaked under his weight. Any moment now they could cave in and so to stop him she opened the door.

“Have you seen Jim?” She had to know. A lot could’ve happened overnight.

“He and the chatterbox left this morning.”

“Great,” she sighed in relief, “just what I wanted to hear. What?” She took a step closer, because Draal’s broad face had started to contort into a grimace. “Is there something I should know?”

“You smell of impure.” He sniffed the air around her in deep bursts of inhalation that made his nostrils flare.

“I spent the evening with-“ she cut herself off and waved a dismissive hand in his general direction. “I don’t need to explain myself to you. Have you had any success trailing Nomura?”

Now she had him grimacing for another reason entirely. Awkwardly, he pulled away and took a few steps back. His arms were crossed in front of his chest.

“Changelings know how to hide.”

A grin stole onto her face. “So you’re saying she's given you the slip?”

He muttered something under his breath and proceeded deeper into the cellar.

“Right. I’m going to pop over to talk to Mrs Domazlski about Jim’s birthday party tomorrow. Aaarrrgghh and Blinky all set?”

“Yes. We arrive, we hide, we yell “surprise”. Easy.”

Barbara chuckled and waved at him as she left. “Perfect.”

What could possibly go wrong?

* * *

 

The next morning Barbara awoke to find a fine film of cloud swirling over the city, the kind that turned the air humid and hot and promised a downpour or two in the future. Still, none of this could have dampened her excitement, for today her boy turned 16 years old. What a milestone, she thought. Star student, protector of all trollkind and most importantly just a really kind boy. Even as she tiptoed down the stairs to try her hand at creating a birthday breakfast, she glowed fiercely with maternal pride.

“Mom?” Jim’s voice rang out half an hour later while she was hastily scooping pancakes onto a plate.

In a peculiar twist that always seemed to impact her cooking, they had somehow turned rather rubbery. Still, a squirt or two or three of syrup ought to help rectify the situation.

“Down here, kiddo!”

Slow, dragging footsteps resounded and eventually revealed the peaky-faced teenager. “You’re up early.”

“Well, today’s the big day, isn’t it?” She beamed at him and watched him squirm on the spot.

“Mom, you really don’t have to…” His eyes slid over to the stack of pancakes. “You made breakfast?”

“Yes. I thought I’d try my hand. The birthday boy should hardly have to cook for himself.”

“Ugh…mooom…” he scratched the back of his head.

In this instance, she supposed, that his reluctance wasn’t solely related to the day itself but also to the unappealing food he saw before him.

“Don’t worry, you don’t have to eat it all. Just take a bite, see how bad it is. It’s nearly time for school too. And then tonight when you’re back and I’m done with work, we can celebrate. Just the two of us.”

“Mom?”

She put up her hands as she walked past him. “No, Jim. This is not negotiable. Nobody should be alone on their birthday.”

“Yeah…no…that’s…” he shook his head. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Confused, she glanced at the plate covered in syrup.

“Strickler?” Jim prompted her impatiently. “How did it go last night? Did he have anything helpful to say?”

She could feel the beginning of a blush start to sneak across her cheeks and hastily sought to answer. “Actually, yes. He told me everything there is to know about the history of the bridge and the battle raged that sent Gunmar into exile.”

Jim sighed and immediately deflated. “I know about that. Blinky told me.”

“Yes, but did he tell you that Deya sealed the bridge with the amulet you’re currently carrying?” Barbara asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Wait, are you saying without the amulet…without me Gunmar can’t be brought back?”

She nodded, a small smile on her face. “Even if they have all the pieces they need.”

“And I’d never cooperate.”

“Of course not. Which leaves the only caveat, and it’s a big one.”

Jim nodded and flicked a strand of hair out of his face. “They’ll come after me to try and force my hand. I’ve got this, mom. Ever since I became the trollhunter people have been trying to kill me.”

“Not reassuring, kiddo,” Barbara chuckled weakly and wrapped an arm around his shoulder. “Just promise me you’ll be extra careful from now on. There’s too many things in play.”

“I promise.” He pecked her cheek and then turned towards the plate of pancakes once more, bravely taking one bite which went down his throat underneath a dry swallow.

“Great. Now, I gotta run, but I’ll see you tonight. Presents then.”

She rushed off to shower and change into her work clothes but stopped once again when she returned downstairs to find Jim standing in the hall.

“Something the matter?” She glanced at him while slipping into her coat.

“Ever think we’re focusing too much on me, mom?”

Her brows drew together as she frowned. “No, actually I think we’re not focusing on you enough. Why?”

She tried to read his facial expression, but he seemed to process still himself.

“What if that’s why Strickler’s after you. Both now and in Paris. If he gets on your good side he could use you as leverage to get me to help them bring back Gunmar.”

Barbara bit back a smile and smoothed down her clothes with her palms until they came to settle above her stomach which felt upset and fragile. “I figured those were his intentions in the here and now.”

“Why not longer? Is there any way he could’ve known back then that I’d be the trollhunter one day?”

Underneath his keen blue gaze, Barbara found herself squirming, because for a moment, for just a fraction of a second, she caught herself thinking back to Sacré-Cœur, to the floating orbs that had showed her son’s face. Was there a possibility, however slight, that Walter had put two and two together without telling her? That that was why he’d been acting so strange last night when she had mentioned Killahead Bridge?

“No,” she answered firmly. “I don’t think that’s possible.”

  
  
Still, the thought haunted her for the rest of the day. Accompanying her to work and lingering in dark, forbidden corners when she - later, much later – was stringing together self-made birthday banners and decorating every last part of the house. Because it actually was possible. Wasn’t it?

Infuriating, too, was the knowledge that Jean would have the answers. She’d been there then and she was still here now. Remembering. Probing. But as she’d taken such careful precautions to let herself into her office, nobody had any record of her in the hospital. So all she could do was wait. And truth be told she was growing rather tired of that.

As daylight began to fade outside and shadows were stretching larger across rooftops and trees, an ominous wind started to blow across Arcadia, rattling window frames and making even the thickest curtain billow underneath its force. Thunder rolled and rumbled gloomily in the distance.

Inside, Barbara nervously checked her watch for the second time in five minutes. As she glanced back up several confused, blank faces were looking back at her.

“I don’t know what’s keeping him. Must be all his extracurricular work.”

The group of local high school teenagers she’d invited remained utterly unimpressed and muttered unintelligibly. Someone questioned balefully what the occasion was in anyway.

“Just uh…help yourself to the food. No sense letting it go cold,” she said, gesturing to numerous pizza boxes that had been delivered a good fifteen minutes prior.

That calmed the unsettled mob and held their focus enough for her to retreat to the basement which she’d carefully locked beforehand.

“Draal?” she whispered into the dark, fingers fumbling for the light switch.

She could hear an almighty shuffling from below and then a loud voice boomed, “Surprise, fleshbag!”

Barbara flinched so hard that she missed a step and stumbled halfway down the wooden stairs before a strong, cool arm caught and steadied her. In the lingering darkness blue eyes found yellow.

“Bar-bu-rah?”

“Jim isn’t here yet. But well done for nailing the plan,” she said with a chuckle that still hadn’t lost its edge.

“Easy, I told you,” he shrugged and let go of her.

“Yeah, too easy,” she sighed, sending a guilty glance upwards where the noise of the party was thankfully thumping on undisturbed.

“No need to worry. The trollhunter is strong.”

“But his enemies plentiful,” she answered in a manner much more reminiscent of Blinky than herself.

The sudden ringing of the doorbell cut through the noise upstairs and made her head jerk up. Jim would’ve let himself in, she knew, and yet she couldn’t help her impulse to rush back to check, only just remembering to lock the basement door behind her again. But the party was carrying on undisturbed and glancing through the sea of faces it took her a little moment before she spotted the familiar form of Toby waving at her through the thicket. His presence heartened her, for surely he wouldn’t be here looking so cheerful if something awful had happened to Jim.

Navigating past groups of teenagers, plastic cups and slices of pizza haphazardly waved through the air, she finally arrived at his side. “Hi Toby, hi Claire. Enjoying yourselves?”

“Just got here, Dr L. But looks like the place is hoppin’,” Toby replied, shooting fingerguns at Claire who chuckled awkwardly and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Yes, thank you, Dr Lake. Everything is great. Though I didn’t really expect to be invited. Jim and I have never really…talked…I mean we have...but not like...”

“Oh that’s just because he’s too busy st-“ Toby started again but Barbara swiftly intervened.

“Studying and doing extra stuff…hobbies, I mean. But, trust me, he really wanted you here.”

She couldn’t remember a time when her son didn’t have a crush on the bright young woman. Surely a little bit of matchmaking couldn’t hurt.

“Exactly what I was gonna say,” Toby muttered and hastily averted his eyes when she shot him an incredulous look. “Anyway, where is he?”

That wiped the smile clean off her face and brought all her fears and worries crashing back to the front. “I’d hoped you knew. I thought you two were hanging out together.”

“Nuhu, haven’t seen him since class. Maybe he’s been called to uh…meet with his…other…friends?” His eyes drifted towards the basement door.

“No, I’ve checked already.”

She glanced around the room once more, sounds and sights turning into one sludge in the background. Her heart thumped noisily in her ears. It was as if everything ground to a halt.

_“_ _You are an impure! How could she ever love you? All of you? You forget I am ancient, Stricklander, and have observed the ways of man!”_

Faint and quivering like a Fata Morgana in the desert, an image danced between the teenagers. It was the same scene she had witnessed once before when falling through the portal. Automatically, she started to steer towards it.

_“I am a God, Stricklander. I am above trolls and humans, and I can see what’s truly in your heart. I know what you want.”_

_“Yes, my lord.”_

“Walter, don’t!” she exclaimed, reaching out for his shoulder.

But just then everything around her sped up again, making colours return to her living room. In front of her, a boy in a white polo shirt was glancing in wide-eyed confusion between her and her hand on his shoulder.

“Uh…Dr Lake?” Tobias asked nervously from behind her. “Is everything alright?”

She tore herself away from the puzzled teenager, mumbling a hasty apology while trying to formulate how very far from alright everything was.

Outside, lightning cracked noisily, cutting through the silence as the front door swung open. For a moment, the entire room turned in comic slow-motion to look at the intruder before interrupting in a half-hearted shout of “Surprise!” There stood Jim, drenched from head to toe, his hair dishevelled and something that looked like a vicious burn marring his cheek.

“Mom?”

As she saw him glancing at all the people that surrounded him – most of which had already dismissed his appearance with a shrug and returned to their conversations – she knew that she shouldn’t have invited them. He sounded lost and small and in desperate need for privacy and comfort.

“Happy birthday, honey,” she said weakly.

“Yeah, happy birthday, Jim,” Claire echoed behind her which seemed to bring some life back into him.

“Oh Claire…hi…you’re here too?” He ran a bruised hand through his hair which only pathetically flopped back down against his scalp.

“Yeah, of course. You invited me, didn’t you?”

Another beat passed in which both of them communicated the truth of the situation in silence.

“Man, Jimbo. What happened to you?” Toby interrupted their moment, shimmying his body into view. “You look…scorched or something?”

Propelled into action, Barbara took a step forward and wrapped an arm around him. “Yeah, honey. Let me take a look at you while you tell me what happened.”

Giving Toby a meaningful look to keep Claire distracted, she guided Jim through the crowd. Behind them, she could just hear her questioning, “Dr Lake keeps her first aid kit in the basement?” before she pulled the door firmly shut behind them.

She had barely flicked the light on when Draal’s huge body barrelled into view once more, accompanied by another hopeful shout of “Surprise, fleshbag!” When he saw the way Jim looked at her, the excitement on his face faltered. “Still wrong? Oh, I give up.”

“Mom?” her son questioned again and wrenched a heavy sigh from her throat.

“It’s your sixteenth birthday, honey. I decided to go all out. Trolls included. But never mind that now, what happened? Where were you?”

“I was being attacked by this giant bird-troll. Like a pterodactyl or something.” He started pacing, waving his hands frantically through the air. “It just appeared out of nowhere as I was cycling home. Snatched me off my bike and took me up in the air.”

“Oh dear God,” Barbara gasped, clasping her hand in front of her mouth.

The thought of her son in the beak of such a predator dangling dangerously in the air was enough to turn her stomach. No armour would have cushioned a fall from such height.

“A Stalkling?” Draal questioned, stepping forward. “One hasn’t been spotted for years.”

“Well, I guess I consider it a birthday gift,” Jim replied bitterly, shoving both hands into his trouser pockets. Rain kept dripping from his blue jacket in a steady rhythm. “It’s Strickler, mom. It’s the changelings, it’s gotta be. You said yourself they need the amulet to unlock the bridge.”

She couldn’t argue with that, even though it was an uncomfortable truth. “So what did you do? How did you escape?”

She brought him closer again, examining his injuries with nimble fingers and the keen eye of a medical professional.

“The storm,” he sighed. Whatever anger he’d felt already evaporated. “I used Daylight to channel a lightning bolt into it.”

“Jim, do you have any idea how dangerous that was?” she questioned, dropping her hands. All the possibilities and terrible outcomes were making them tremble.

“It worked, didn’t it? I didn’t exactly have time to formulate a plan, mom.”

She offered him a small smile as a symbol of peace. “And then what?”

“Then I…” he shifted about on his feet, suddenly struggling to look her into the eye. “Then I fell. It dropped me.”

She could see it all unfolding in front of her mind’s eye. Jim dropping through sheets of rain, lightning splitting the sky in half behind him. Death below.

“And I fell…and fell until something…something caught me, mom. Another flying troll. Snatched me out of the air and dropped me roughly onto the ground. By the time I had my bearings it had disappeared.”

For a brief second, her mind travelled to the gargoyles that line the balustrades of Notre Dame. She blinked once or twice to focus.

“I’m so glad you’re alright.” He didn’t struggle much when she pulled him into a hug, content enough to disappear into the safety of her arms for a while.

Grimacing, Draal averted his eyes. “You better tell Blinky, Trollhunter. Vendel might have to be informed.”

Reluctantly, Jim emerged from her embrace. He studied the friendly troll before finding her eyes. “Draal’s right, mom. I have to warn them.”

“Of course, sweetie. They’re expecting you in anyway.” She tried not to let her reluctance shine through. It would’ve been selfish to ask him to keep within her sights. "But hang on just a moment." She jogged upstairs and into the kitchen from where she retrieved two ice packs which she handed to Jim upon her return. "Keep these on your cheek. The burn isn't serious but it'll sting badly enough."

“Thank you, mom.” He stepped closer to peck her cheek. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back in a tick.”

“Don’t let him out of your sight, Draal,” she called after them  and remained standing there until their forms had disappeared into the tunnel.

For a long time there was only silence and the dull echo of music and chatter from upstairs. Then her phone buzzed and drew her out of her thoughts. Thinking it might be Jim with some further words of encouragement, she pulled it out of her pocket.

“Saw Jim leaving by himself in this awful weather. Wanted to make sure he arrived home safely. Walter.”

She blinked and stared at it, skimmed the lines a few times before pushing the device back where it had come from. A thought was beginning to form in her mind. Of a troll with wings who cared despite his changeling status.

“Enough,” she spoke into the empty space.

The time for hypotheticals had passed, but the time for concrete answers and determined action was only just beginning.


	17. Down in the Depths

Above the city of Arcadia Oaks the sun was rising. On its ascent, it disappeared behind thick cotton of clouds that had been whipped up to tall, stormy towers hours before. The mantle of the night reigned supreme but there where the light – rich and orange and hopeful – broke through, a new day was born. Barbara Lake sat in her car on top of a hill overlooking the spectacle. She’d only had minimal amount of sleep, having occupied herself most of the night with the hatching of a plan. As the clouds parted and the newborn light blinded her, Barbara went over the details once more.

 

_“Mom? I’m back!” Jim called to her from the basement._

_It was an hour after most of the party-goers had left, none of which had taken any notice of his absence except for Claire who had hardly seemed convinced by the excuses offered to her. Barbara collected the sheets of paper she’d been scribbling on and set them aside next to the golden bracelet that no longer twinkled or glistened._

_“Up here, honey!”_

_She listened to the patter of his footsteps and deduced from them alone that he was in a much better mood than previously._

_“You will never believe what happened!” he announced, bursting into her room a few seconds later._

_Barbara tried to keep a poker face but a smile persistently tugged on the corners of her mouth. “What is it? Not another attack, I hope?”_

_“No, nothing like that. No, mom. Blinky got me a bike! Like a Vespa! Well, at least parts of it so we can build it together, like-“_

_He stopped before he could finish his sentence, but she didn’t need to hear it, had known the rest for a while now. **Like dad promised we’d do.**_

_She smiled at him in earnest now before attempting to adopt a stern expression. “You know how I feel about bikes. All these kids getting into accidents these days.”_

_“Mom, please. You let me be the trollhunter, remember? How bad can a bike be?”_

_She chuckled and shook her head. “Mr Blinky talked to me beforehand. Pretty sensible for a troll. So don’t you worry, it’s all got the mom seal of approval.”_

_A rush of emotion washed over his features and within two steps he had flung himself into her arms. “Thank you, mom. You’re the best. This is the best. I can’t believe-“_

_The rest was lost against her chest and she pecked his head and held him close. At last he could have one ordinary moment of adolescent joy._

_“You’ve still got my gift to unwrap too. Not to spoiler anything, but it’ll help you blend in.” She laughed at her own ridiculous pun at which her son only shook his head._

_“You’re worse than Strickler…” And with a thud they were caught again in the reality of things._

_“He has reached out, actually. Sent me a text message to ask if you’d got home okay.”_

_Jim pulled out of her arms, attempted to fix his hair and then just gave up and plopped down by her side._

_“C’mon, that’s suspicious. That’s gotta be suspicious, right? On the night I’m suddenly attacked by some vicious, flying Stalkling, Strickler just decides to send that text?”_

_“Oh, I’m completely with you on this, kiddo. Which is why I’ve decided it’s time to act.” Surprised but easily won over, Jim nodded his assent. “So I’m going to invite him to dinner.”_

_His face immediately fell. “Not…exactly…what I had in mind, mom.”_

_Barbara laughed which only served to make her son look more concerned._

_“Let me be more specific, I’m going to invite him to dinner with us.”_

_“And then what? We’re gonna kidnap him? Pressure him for information?”_

_“Remind me to make sure you spend some more time amongst humans, kid. No, none of that stuff. We’re going to trap him into exposing himself and then we’re going to make him consider which side he’s really on.”_

_A little bit uncertain still, Jim pulled a face. “I don’t know…”_

_“Trust me on this, honey. It’s the only way we’ll ever get anywhere.”_

_And so they’d sat up together, filing out the details of the dinner arrangement and crafting an agreement of what was an acceptable and an unacceptable outcome. And then when Jim had gone to bed, she’d stayed awake still, jotting down recipes and tinctures she remembered from Gunmarson’s medicinal guide. She hoped that if consulted, Draal would be able to acquire all ingredients for her._

 

Below her, Arcadia was now slowly awakening. A trickle of cars moved through the streets, birds chirped in the trees behind her. She could picture the change of shifts at the hospital, the tired but satisfied faces, the disgruntled demeanour of impatient patients. Something grew knotted inside her and no breath could hope to unravel it. It was, she thought, an acute awareness that this could be the last morning, the last sunrise she’d ever witness – if the plan backfired, if Gunmar was brought back to life. She wondered, hoped even that Walter was waking up somewhere now with the same trepidation in his heart.

For a little while longer she lingered, no coherent, firm thought in her head, but simply a string of half-threads until the sun stood proud and high in the sky and she reminded herself that it was time to go. Back to the past. She rather sensed it would be her last time. Still wished she’d turn out to be wrong.

Paris in the fledgling glow of a new morning was glorious to behold and somewhere inside her a longing unfurled to have shared a moment at this time of day with Walter. It would have suited him well.

Just as she had done in Arcadia, she took her time. Everything about this adventure – however harrowing or difficult at times – was precious to her and she wanted to make certain to store away every last impression, to lock it like a tangible sensation deep inside her body. The scent of smoke and cigarettes, of perfume and freshly baked bread. The restless honking of automobiles, the tinkling of little bicycle bells, the shouts of the newspaper vendors. All the architectural wonders that the city had to offer from the art galleries to the railway stations. To have been here, to have seen and heard and smelled and tasted – a not so small miracle in itself.

Walter’s apartment building was eerily silent, as though its occupants had not yet been told that a new day had blossomed around them. Barbara glanced over her shoulder, self-consciously fixed her hair and then finally worked up the courage to knock.

He appeared before her with an almost otherworldly speed, immaculately dressed and coiffed. “Yes? How may I help you?”

She’d always known French to be the language of love, but she hadn’t anticipated it being the language of heart break as well. Because that’s all it took to confirm her fears. One conversation begun in the wrong language was all she needed to know that his memory had been erased, that she was gone from even the deepest recesses of his mind.

“It’s Barbara. I promised I’d be back,” she tried nonetheless.

There was some dark frantic part of her that still hoped she’d got it wrong or that, perhaps, it was all just an act designed to warn her of a threat lurking inside the building.

“Perhaps you’ve rung the wrong bell, Mademoiselle?”

He was charming even in his rejection and she had to swallow hard against the lump in her throat.

“No, Walt. Definitely the right address and the right number.”

She could almost see his brain working in the puzzled way his eyebrows drew together. There had to be a logical reason why this stranger knew his name but whatever it was, he didn’t seem to find it.

“I don’t recall meeting you before, Mademoiselle. I am terribly sorry.”

She could feel the corners of her mouth drawing up to offer him a smile but they only twitched half-heartedly, failing to convey the correct emotion.

"I'm sorry too, Walter. If I hadn’t needed to rush back I could have talked you out of this. Janus thinks he knows your heart, but it’s only the darkest secrets you wrestle with every day. It doesn’t make him right.”

He was so taken aback that he staggered away from her, his eyes pulled wide open and his gaze incredulous. Then came the tension along with a wave of anger, as he glanced over his shoulder as though to check who had betrayed or pranked him so. His wrath was terrible even in silence and Barbara fleetingly thought that he couldn’t have looked scarier, not even in his troll form.

“Perhaps you better leave, Mademoiselle,” he growled. “I’d hate to make a scene.”

She sighed her sadness into the space between them and then slowly shook her head. “Of course, Walter, I’m sorry.”

She turned and started walking down the stairs, barely seeing anything for the tears that clouded her vision. Still, when her feet connected with the pavement, she found herself pausing, glancing back at him, for he hadn’t abandoned his vigil by the doorway yet.

“Just…be safe, alright? Keep your head down, don’t seek out trouble.” Redundant advice for several reasons. Still, it needed to be said.

For a minute it looked as though he might say something, but then he clamped his mouth shut and closed the door.

She fled in a haze through the streets through which she’d only just arrived, barely looking, wildly stumbling. Surely knowing – at least vaguely – what was about to come should have softened the blow. She huffed indignantly at herself while her clumsy fingers tried to open up her purse and retrieve the key. She no longer wished to sight-see or be seen. She only longed to disappear. Back to Arcadia where Jim was waiting. Back to Arcadia where there were answers too if they played their cards right or if blasted Jean-

Barbara stopped in her tracks and blinked, for the passage to the portal to which she had just transferred was no longer empty.

“You!” she gasped, poking her finger into thin air as though she wished to jam it somewhere into the female changeling’s chest.

Jean’s smile widened frightfully, exposing her teeth. “Yes, dear flesh-thing, I have been waiting for you.”

Anger carried her all the way towards her. “Come to gloat, I guess? What has happened to Walter? What have you done?”

She snickered and slowly began drawing circles around her again. “Nothing that he didn’t want to, dear heart. Nothing he didn’t know was right.”

“Losing his memory, really? You really think that will work?”

Jean’s eyes gleamed and her skin shuddered as though her troll form was about to break through.

Barbara continued before she had a chance to speak. “It’ll turn out to be nothing more than a minor inconvenience. A set back at best. Because no matter how hard you try, his memory does not change his heart.” She stopped turning her body along in accordance with Jean’s and grabbed her tightly by the wrist. “You are going to lose.”

And without a further look at her, Barbara strode into the portal and vanished. She didn’t much like fighting, but it struck her now how some things were definitely worth fighting for.

* * *

 

“I don’t get why I actually have to cook for him.” Jim flipped fried potatoes expertly in the pan to make sure they were browning equally on either side.

“First of all, you’re not cooking for him. You’re cooking for all of us. It’s been a long day and I’m starving.” She winked when he briefly turned his attention away from the stove to glance at her. “And second of all, it’d be suspicious to have nothing cooking when you’re being invited over to a dinner.”

“Could be expecting take-out,” Jim shrugged, and she rolled her eyes.

“Yes, well, Mr Know-It-All, I suppose we could’ve. But we decided to cook instead. And you like cooking.”

He turned the temperature down and reached for a stack of plates. “Technically, yes. But not if it’s being wasted on some two-faced, lying, im-“

“Enough!” Barbara interrupted firmly, holding up her hand. “I’m not going to tolerate such language in my house and especially not from you. You are the trollhunter, for Merlin’s- for God’s sake, not some small-minded thug.”

It was so unlike her to raise her voice that Jim paled and immediately fell silent. As the oil sizzled in the pan next to them, their silent stalemate continued until Barbara snatched her glasses from her nose and let out a sigh.

“Like I said, it’s been a long day and a lot has happened. You’ve got a lot on your plate too and you’re disappointed in Strickler, I know. But just-“ she finished rubbing the glasses against her shirt and put them back on. “That kind of talk is not helpful and most importantly, it isn’t like you. So please give it some consideration. Don’t let your anger rule your head.”

When he averted his eyes to disguise the guilty look within them, she briefly tousled his hair and then abandoned the kitchen to have a quick change of clothes. Inside, she was also twisted up under feelings she’d rather not address. Too often the lines between parenthood and friendship had become blurred, she felt, forcing her son to carry the burden of all her emotions when some could have been better shared with somebody else. _Like Walter_ , the treacherous voice inside her mind whispered before she succeeded in closing her eyes and shutting it out.

Below, the doorbell rang and all of a sudden it was time for action. They’d only get one chance at this, so they’d better do it justice.

“I’ll get it,” she called, emerging onto the landing and slowly making her way down.

From the kitchen she could hear Jim handling plates and pans at once to make himself sound busier than he truly was. And then in a reversal of roles, it was Walter on her doorstep. And he looked good. He hadn’t changed much about his usual attire but carried himself with a confidence that was terribly becoming.

“Barbara,” he greeted her when she failed to, lifting her hand up to his lips. “Don’t you look splendid tonight.”

Between the mess of recent events, her mind raced wildly, attempting to pinpoint where exactly they’d been at when last they’d met. _Gaggle-tack_ , her mind faintly supplied along with a bunch of other unhelpful facts she hastily chose to ignore.

“Thank you. It’s amazing, isn’t it, what a different blouse can do?”

She withdrew her hand and used it to cheerfully usher him inside. Her acting skills had to match his if she was to succeed and he was to be kept in the dark until the trap was sprung.

They had barely taken their seats at the living room table when Walter attempted to peer into the kitchen. “And is that Young Atlas cooking in there?”

His surprise sounded genuine.

“Yes, I thought it important that we’d all get together to talk. Things have been far too strained lately. On all fronts.”

He watched her now with a well-disguised wariness only she had come to spot.

“I figured it’d be helpful to all of us but especially to Jim to clarify what is and isn’t going on.”

“Between us?” he prompted, and it was as though his voice caught in her own throat and for a moment she couldn’t swallow or speak.

Then Jim burst in, laden with plates of food. “Oh hi, Mr Strickler.”

No-one in the room believed his casual attitude.

“Good evening, Young Atlas. When I arrived here tonight I did not anticipate being so spoiled.”

Her son shot her a smug look and then briefly retreated into the kitchen to retrieve the last remaining plate. “Mom didn’t want to order take out. She said you’d consider yourself too good for that.”

Rolling her eyes, Barbara pushed away from the table to collect some water. “I did no such thing, Jim. I merely pointed out that Mr Strickler might really enjoy your cooking.”

“Which I’m certain I will.”

She nodded, pleased, and briefly let the kitchen door fall shut behind her, knowing that Jim would do his bit to further their plan. They had agreed that in her absence he would abandon all pretence of enjoyment and drop small hints about knowing Walter’s dual nature. Or the “I know that you know and now you know that I know that you know” game as they had dubbed it.

She hesitated momentarily behind the door and then pushed it open with her foot at just the right time, a curious smile lighting up her features when she saw how both men tried to rein in their facial expressions.

“Who wants some water? Or could I offer you some wine, Walt?”

“Wine would be marvellous, Barbara, thank you.”

She nodded and slipped out once more, letting a further couple of minutes of conversation pass by. When she returned, everything had lapsed into utter silence and Walter looked pale and uncomfortable, save for his ears which were flushed with colour and betraying his underlying aggravation.

“Oh dear, what have I missed?”

A look was passed between them but both of them firmly kept their mouths clamped shut.

“Well?” she challenged again. “Do I have to use my mom voice?”

At the moment it was hard to ascertain what had transpired, whether Jim had gone off script and dropped a bomb shell or whether they were still on track.

Finally, he pried his lips apart and looked her straight in the eye. “I asked him when you started dating.”

Ah, nothing had been lost yet then.

“And I’m sure Mr Strickler told you that we haven’t been dating at all. We’ve been having coffee together to discuss you, in fact. How to support you both at home and at school.”

“That’s not what he said,” Jim replied pointedly and before she could stop them, her eyebrows rose up in surprise.

“No?” She directed her question at Strickler himself. Faintly, she could feel each heavy beat of her heart as it thudded in her chest. Was this the moment where he’d reveal his plan? Where he’d reveal that he remembered her after all?

But Walter kept his eyes firmly latched onto the table and refused to meet her gaze.

“He started to say something but then suddenly got a bad headache,” Jim explained rolling his eyes.

Barbara exhaled and felt her entire body fill with disappointment. “Still getting those, huh? I really think you should go and have a check-up, Walter.”

“I’m sure it isn’t anything bad, Barbara. I haven’t been eating enough, that must be it.”

She was certain that his headaches were related to the spell or the potion that had stolen his memory, but that still made it difficult to imagine what transpired during one of these episodes. Did he experience flashes of recollection that he couldn’t place? That would definitely explain his startled demeanour. Or were the symptoms purely physical?

Under the table, Jim put a comforting hand on her own and somehow that helped her conjure up a placating smile. “Well, then we’d better dig in, right? Don’t want all this gorgeous food to grow cold.”

Picking up her cutlery, she started eating but the relish with which she usually consumed her son’s food was missing. It felt almost as though all the meat and vegetables only tasted of tears in her mouth.

“You know, Jim,” she started after she’d endured a good long while of uncomfortable silence, “I didn’t just invite Mr Strickler here tonight so that you could make amends, but also to propose something. In the past weeks and months he’s really become invaluable in trying to help me find solutions for both of us.”

“Solutions?” Jim repeated as they had rehearsed. “Solutions for what, mom? We’re fine.”

“Alright, let’s call it something else. He has been trying to offer me insight on what might be going on with you. I mean, we can both agree that things have been pretty tense lately.”

“Yes, but-“

She shook her head and lifted her hand. “I’m not blaming you, honey. You’re going through a lot.”

“Yes, growing up can be a tough business,” Walter chimed in, and she was grateful that he’d found his voice again.

“Even more important, then, to have friends and family on your side. Walter, Mr Strickler, would make an excellent role model. I know you miss your dad to talk about boy things with, but perhaps Mr Strickler could help with that? Just a little? Every now and again?”

“Mom?!” Jim bristled; it didn’t take him much effort to conjure up the air of incensed teenager.

“Not as a father figure,” Walter immediately sought to soothe the situation, sounding every bit as startled by the prospect as Jim, “but perhaps as a mentor, a uh….confidante?”

Her eyes connected with his once more, creating in that single brief moment a whole myriad of what ifs.

“I don’t know…” Jim muttered who seemed to have noticed this too.

“Just think about it, okay? I still remember you talking so much about Mr Strickler. The little jokes he told in class that made you roll your eyes even while you were grinning. The helpful hints and tips he gave without needing prompting.”

“Yeah alright, mom,” Jim remarked a little bit firmer, his ears red and his features bearing every sign of embarrassment.

She’d gone off script and inadvertently reminded him of uncomfortable truths.

“Alright, alright,” she lifted both of her hands now in a gesture of peace, “I’ve made my point. No decision has to be made tonight.”

Somehow the direction of the conversation had made them switch position. Now it was Jim who was determinedly glowering at his plate while Walter was watching her with something like keen interest.

“I’ll clear up, make some space for dessert, huh?”

Walter smiled and rose to his feet alongside her. “Let me give you a hand, Barbara.”

“Oh that’s very nice of you, but it won’t take a second. I’ll be right back.”

Juggling crockery and cutlery at once, she hoped that Jim still remembered the next step of the plan. While she waited, she soaked the dirty dishes in the sink and slid the apple pie out of the freezer to defrost it in the oven. Outside, the voices of both of them grew louder and then quieter, as they navigated the very own flow of their heated debate.

It felt peculiar to wait and claim ignorance when a few feet away one reality escalated into the next. The familiar hum of Jim’s amulet merged with a strikingly blinding flash of green. Barbara inched towards the door, her hand closed around its handle. Still, she waited. She had promised Jim as much. The clank of armour and the smacking of bare, stony feet fed her only little pieces of information. That they were circling each other. That a brawl was imminent.

She swallowed and evened her breathing. Bumping, hissing. Angry words. A struggle and finally she pushed down the handle to see Stricklander towering over her son, one claw clamped around the amulet of Merlin.

“Enough.”

The softness of her voice caught both of them off guard, but it was her sudden presence that sent the changeling scrambling for answers. His form wavered, wanting to erase what she had witnessed while knowing that it was too late.

“Please unhand my son, Walter. I won’t ask twice.”

“You…know?” He sounded endearingly young; confused, irritated and yet hopeful at once.

“I think you knew that I knew. Back at school when I saved you from the horseshoe incident?”

She could no longer hold his eyes and brushed a strand of hair out of her face.

“You’re lucky she’s on your side, Strickler,” Jim muttered, “or I would have blown your cover.”

Blue light flashed once as the armour left his body and the amulet dropped noisily onto the floor. Walter, too, reverted back to his human form. He remained doubled over until he found the strength to straighten himself and scoffed.

“You think too highly of yourself, Trollhunter. You truly don’t expect me to be ruffled by a mere child, do you?”

Mockery and anger came so easy to him, she reflected sadly.

“Enough. Both of you.”

Changeling and human alike stared at her in disbelief, amazed, perhaps, that she was running the situation without the need for a sword or a knife.

“Take a seat.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest. 

Like two children they exchanged irritated glances before slinking to their respective chairs.

“So you really deemed it safe to tell your mother?” Walter challenged him immediately and before Barbara had opened her mouth for a rebuttal, Jim had already intervened.

“First of all, the minute the amulet chose me my mother stopped being safe. Maybe she was never safe to begin with thanks to your kind. And second of all,” he barrelled on, ignoring her renewed attempt at interrupting the dialogue, “I don’t think you know her at all. She’s almost a better master mind than you.” He levelled his gaze with hers, challenging her in the brief moment of silence. “She knew that you’d use all tools at your disposal to get the amulet. That you’d assume your troll form when provoked. She banked on that, in fact, because then she wouldn’t just get to “catch you in the act”, but because then I’d also get to witness that you were the one saving me from the Stalkling the other day.”

Her ears coloured almost in tandem with his.

“Isn’t that right, mom?”

Her gaze drifted away from Walter and back to her son. “I thought it might have been him, yes. I’d hoped…” An apology lay in her tone.

“Why didn’t you just tell me, mom?” Jim questioned, reaching for her hand across the table.

“I didn’t want to disappoint you in case I was wrong.”

“Disappoint me or disappoint you?” he asked softly and as if unable to bear the direction of the conversation himself, Walter abruptly rose to his feet.

“This is a waste of my time. You will understand that I won’t stick around.”

“Bullshit,” Barbara said firmly, pushing both of her palms into the table and arresting him with the ferocity of her gaze alone. “You are here because you care, not because you have come to assassinate my son. Killahead Bridge is finished, we know that. We also know that you need the Trollhunter to open it. But you’re struggling, Walt. Otherwise you could’ve just let him die or forced his collaboration some other way.” She breathed in sharply through her nostrils. “It’s hard, because you know him as a person. Your star pupil like you said yourself. Young Atlas. My son. You grew to know him in all the different forms we humans can take on and you were fond of him, because you are human, too.”

Walter scoffed and tried to duck his head, but his eyes retained their pleading look.

“That’s not an insult, Walt. It’s a compliment. You watched him struggle to adapt to his new role, because you – out of all the trolls – probably knew best what it’s like to try and juggle two worlds, to be rejected in both of them should the truth emerge. But you knew you had to follow your orders, do Bular’s bidding. This is your job after all, right? To grovel in front of and to serve a master who will keep treating you like dirt even when he has grabbed all the power he wants. I don’t blame you…” Her tone softened, her voice felt hoarse and dry. “I can’t blame you for the years of abuse you and all changelings have suffered. I can’t claim to know either what that’s really been like. But I can hold you accountable for your actions and remind you that you have a choice. You know your history, Walter. You lived through it. When has following a dictator ever turned out well, huh?”

She could read his own sense of déjà vu in the depth of his eyes. And it was there, too, in the gentle pivot of his body, the way in which he opened himself up.

“You have a choice. If the trolls of Trollmarket have started to accept a human Trollhunter who says they won’t accept a reformed changeling too?”

It was the kind of moment in which even a hush of quiet could feel thick and uncomfortable. The kind where heartbeats aligned in frantic rhythm and nobody dared to breathe.

She could watch his brain work, how each thought bounced around his skull with agonising force. One hand moved to his chest. Closed around something inside his breast pocket that she couldn’t see. Then his shoulders tensed and she knew that for the second time in a day she’d lost him.

“No. I’m too old to believe such fairy tales.”

He turned his back on both of them and marched towards the front door. Jim tried to follow, anger blazing in his eyes – for he was also being left again by a man he’d considered a father figure – but faltered when he felt her hand on his shoulder.

“You better prepare for war, Young Atlas. For war is always inevitable.” The door fell shut behind him and slowly, his footsteps faded away in the distance.

Her son sighed and tentatively glanced up at her. She could feel his eyes skimming her profile for answers. “Makes you wish we’d thought of a Plan B, right?”  
  



	18. Public Enemy Number One

There was a Plan B, though Barbara chose not to disclose this to Jim. It was so feeble, so unlikely to yield any kind of positive result that it was better kept to herself. Perhaps she was more like Strickler than she had realised initially.

Plan B was called tracking down Jean, and she’d spent an awful lot of time figuring out how to do that. From driving through town and checking every house to interviewing every employee of the hospital who might have seen her. The list was as ridiculous as it was impossible. But tonight the answer had finally come to her. Stumbling through her room, kicking over and then straightening bottles and vials marked “Burn Resistance-Troll”, “Burn-Resistance-Changeling”, “General healing ointment-troll”, “General healing ointment-changeling” and so on, she’d suddenly caught sight of Hekate’s key within the mess. Hekate’s key that could absolutely transport her anywhere she wanted. “All you have to do is ask”. That’s what the Goddess herself had said, wasn’t it?

Barbara circumnavigated more jars, snatched it up and sat down on her bed. She took one deep, steady breath. Across the road in the Domzalski’s house the light was still on. She hoped that Jim and Toby were spending the evening playing video games rather than planning an intervention for Killahead Bridge. Of course she knew the truth.

The key in her palm was cool and hard and as she furled her fingers around it, she pictured Jean in as much detail as she could muster. Her white, short cropped hair. The peculiar tinge of her skin tone. Her indifferent attitude. Then something pulled under her navel, hooked into her and lifted her up from her own bed and into a whirlpool of particles. When she next regained control of her senses, she was staring up at a large mansion in the middle of the city, the kind you knew had a big pool and an inbuilt sauna just by looking at it. Of course Jean had taken hiding in plain sight to a luxurious level.

Barbara glanced around and shivered, then took a determined step closer to ring the doorbell. It took a while before anyone answered. Perhaps she’d have to rouse a butler, Barbara thought wryly. That was before she noticed the faint buzzing and realised that she was being observed by a security camera.

“I give no money to charity or the homeless,” came Jean’s bored voice through the intercom.

Barbara bristled and stared down at her bare feet. “You know it’s me. Let me in or I’ll do it myself.”

Silence followed thankfully by another buzz that signalled the unlocking of the doors.

The halls into which she entered were marble and in two words strikingly European. There were statues and flower arrangements and paintings lining the walls and somehow Barbara got the sense that they were all overcompensating for a lack of something else. Perhaps the mansion would have felt too vast without them. She heard the click of Jean’s heels before she laid eyes on her. The sound reverberated around her, echoing off the walls and high ceiling and disguising – if only for a moment – her actual location. She felt that this was probably Jean’s intention, so she remained where she was, her arms crossed in front of her chest.

“Have the dreams finally begun, Dr Lake?”

When Jean eventually stepped into view she was remarkably small and fragile, and Barbara fleetingly wondered how much of her appearance had always been based on smoke and mirrors.

“Oh, the dreams started a good while ago now, as I’m sure you’re aware. So let’s skip all that and move on to the answers. You were waiting for me at the portal when I left Paris for the last time. You know what happened to Walter’s memories.” When Jean’s face merely morphed into a smirk, she ruthlessly pressed on. “Was it Janus or was it you?”

“Oh poor flesh-thing, how blinded you are by love.”

It was worse than an insult, because there was no sharpness or pity in it. Just a keen sense of understanding which struck her deeply and twisted her stomach into knots.

“You’re right that Janus, that bastard, saw right through Stricklander’s bravado to his fears and his ambitions. It’s his strength; manipulation, I mean.” She made a sweeping motion through the air which Barbara took as an invitation to follow her down the corridor. “But the decision in the end was Stricklander’s. Janus had nothing to do with it.”

“But you did,” Barbara insisted, stopping until Jean was forced to stop also to look at her. “I know you did. You were gloating!”

“Would you like to know what I said to Walter?” she challenged, raising an eyebrow so white it was barely visible. “I reminded him how awful, how painful it is to lose someone you love. How you grief and weep and scream, how you tear out your own hair and twist yourself up until you’re bleeding. But they don’t return.” She paused only briefly to catch her breath. “I told him what he already knew. That nobody would understand let alone accept his weak emotions. That he’d have no compassion anywhere, because nobody showed any towards me.”

She squared her shoulders and started walking again, giving Barbara the impression that she rather wanted to hide her face. When she spoke again her voice had entirely changed. It was softer, tender almost but tinged with sadness.

“Jacques was strong. He was at the height of his powers. He had his whole life still ahead of him! Centuries and centuries!” Her long manicured nails curled and uncurled against her side, resembling talons. “You on the other hand are a mere human. A thing made of flesh and bones. Fragile. Laughably easy to break.”

Frowning, Barbara quickened her strides until she had caught up with her. “Jacques died for nothing. He died because Janus had decided that he was disposable. Just like Bular and his father. Love isn’t at fault here. Janus is.”

“I know!” Jean bristled angrily, staring into her eyes so intently that Barbara began seeing stars. “I have had decades of grieving and watching, and I know who to hold responsible. Why else would I waste my time answering all of your inane questions?”

Barbara rolled her eyes and put one hand on her hip. “Excuse me for not believing you. You did send Nomura into my house and – no matter what you say or what you might believe – you are responsible for Walter’s memory loss.”

Jean licked her lips and exhaled once sharply through her nostrils. Apparently her patience was wearing thin.

“I am only going to say this one more time. So take note, fleshbag. I sent Nomura after you decades and decades ago when I was thirsty for revenge. She was a young thing herself still and knew everything about a love that wasn’t meant to be. It was all too easy to get her to take my side and do my bidding. But Stricklander, _Stricklander-_ are you listening? He is a coward. He decided that it was easiest if he took his own memory. That way he wouldn’t have to live with heartache or guilt. That way it was as if you’d simply never existed.”

Disappointment hit her like a blow that was hard to swallow. It prickled underneath her skin hot and angry.

“Sure you can spin it all you want – and I’m pretty sure you will,” Jean continued, moving into the parlour beyond the corridor where it appeared she’d been sitting before. There were books everywhere and music drifting faintly from an old gramophone. “Perhaps Walter’s act wasn’t one of cowardice but heroism. Maybe he thought this’d be the best way to protect you. You’ve found a neat little way around other upsetting things too, haven’t you? Like our violence and manipulation. Easier to blame those on Bular and Gunmar. But if you love him like you say, you will have to face up to some uncomfortable truths. Face up to them,” she emphasised, holding up one long, spindly finger, “not rationalise them.”

Barbara could feel her face burn all the way up to her hairline and words still weren’t forthcoming. So she remained in the doorway, paralysed and embarrassed, all wind taken out of her sails while Jean fixed herself a drink.

“Do you know how he did it?” she asked eventually.

The changeling’s eyes flashed briefly, then she slid the olive off the tooth pick and crushed it into nothingness between her fangs.

“No. He didn’t exactly invite me along. I’m guessing a potion probably. Easiest way to assure long-term success. Stricklander likes his magic. And before you ask, I have no idea how to reverse it. You’d have to ask him.”

Barbara sighed and averted her eyes, turned her gaze instead to her bare feet on the plush Persian rug. Vulnerable, exposed.

Jean did not engage with her. She could hear her slowly sipping at her drink and turning a few pages of a book.

“What will you do then when Killahead Bridge opens?”

“I thought your son was meant to prevent that?”

Barbara sighed and tiredly rolled her eyes. “Yeah, obviously. Let me rephrase that question. Are you just going to sit here sipping your drink while your brothers and sisters help Bular bring Gunmar back?”

“I’m flattered you think I’d have any sway on this. It’s not like we’ve kept in touch over the years, sent fond letters…”

“You know that’s not what I’m asking either!”

“No, you are wanting to recruit me to join your son’s mighty army.” Her tone was utterly lacking in seriousness. “You’d like me to join the right side to redeem myself. You humans do enjoy a happy ending.”

“That’s not true,” Barbara interrupted her firmly. “I wouldn’t want you to join us just so I can feel better about myself. I want you to reconsider your choices, because you said yourself that you know who is to blame. If Walter can’t do it,” she averted her eyes to hide how sore she still felt, “then perhaps you can. Sometimes all it takes to spark a rebellion is one person stepping forward.”

Her offer in all its facets and nuances stood thickly between them, full of world-changing potential. It had ignited something alive behind Jean’s eyes, too, that had been dead for too long. Even more disappointing it was then when she recovered and dryly remarked, “How touching.”

Barbara felt her fists clench and only gradually relaxed them.

“Right, then it’s time to go. Have a happy doomsday.”

And she didn’t stick around for another snide word or look. She held onto the key and determinedly transported herself back into her own bedroom. Sometimes, she thought as she sank with a sigh down onto her mattress, it was better to avoid knowing the truth.

* * *

  
  
In the days that followed, tension continued to linger in the air. It gave the sense that at any time now darkness could forever fall over Arcadia Oaks and the world beyond.

Jim had organised a flimsy group of volunteers to keep an eye on the museum. And Barbara had taken to having her phone within reach constantly – unless she was in surgery – to take leave at a moment’s notice. Her satchel with potions, tinctures and a first aid kit stood ready. Still, everything remained eerily quiet. Until one day it didn’t anymore.

It all started with a frantic phone call Barbara accepted between patients.

“Mom, we gotta go now! It’s happening!”

Behind Jim’s upset shout, she could hear a mixture of other familiar voices.

“Okay, slow down, kiddo. What happened? Did Bular send a formal invitation or something? Are you alright- unharmed, I mean?”

She softly closed the door to her office and exchanged her white coat for her outdoor coat. It had been pouring down with rain since the early hours of the morning.

“Yeah, I’m fine. But they have Blinky!” She could hear his panic by the way the letters of every word overlapped. “I gotta go now before they hurt him.”

“Did they say where they’re holding him?” she asked, trying to assess whether they were just trying to add pressure.

“It was Strickler on the phone, mom. Strickler and Blinky. They’re at the museum again. How they got the bridge back there I don’t know, but that’s where they are and that’s where I’m going.”

“Hang on!” she called, frightened that he might hang up. “Just hang on a second, honey. I know you’re terrified, but I’m rushing to my car as we speak and I’ll pick you up. This is obviously a trap, and I’m not letting you walk in there alone.”

Silence at the other end while she grabbed keys and bag and made her way to inform the front desk.

“Mom?” His voice quivered.

“Yes, love?”

“Hurry, okay?”

“I promise I’ll be there in a minute. Hang tight, honey. It’s going to be alright.”

Home fast, heart beating in her throat.

Explanations scarce. Emergency. Jim. Someone else had to find cover.

Feeling bad for leaving. Feeling worse for not being there.

Seething.

Rain drops smearing her windshield. Sky dark and thunderous. Fears worse.

Jim was waiting for her outside the house when she screeched to a halt. Seeing him surrounded by family allowed her to breathe. One by one they piled into the car. Toby in the front, her son squeezed between Aaarrrgghh and Draal who were both tall and broad enough to put dents into roof and sides of the vehicle. Nobody cared.

“The museum?” was the only thing she asked, meeting Jim’s blue eyes in the rear-view mirror.

“Yeah, in that alleyway opposite the park. Strickler will meet us there.”

She gripped the steering wheel tighter.

“Trap. Blinkous said not to come.”

Barbara squeezed the gas with her foot and shot faster down the street. “They need the amulet. Of course it’s a trap.”

“But we’re a team,” Jim said firmly, and despite his fear and anger, she could see the leader that he would become, that he had already started to become. “We have each other’s backs. Trap or not. We’re doing this.”

Barbara nodded and offered him a grim smile which he returned in kind. The street lamp lights blurred against the wet glass of the windows, turning all buildings they passed into abstract silhouettes. The wheels skidded softly on the slippery road, and for a small while nobody said a word. Dour determination filled out the skeleton of the car.

“Nearly there,” Barbara eventually hummed under her breath and Jim nodded and grabbed the edge of both front seats with his hands.

“Draal, Blinky, Toby, mom?” he began. “You’ll stay here in the car. I will meet with Strickler and follow him into the museum. I’ll try to find out where they’re keeping Blinky and in what state he’s in. Then, after 10 minutes, you’ll head inside too. We’ll take them by surprise and we’ll get our friend back!”

“Hear, hear!” exclaimed Tobias with grim enthusiasm which the trolls echoed in their own gruff way.

Barbara stayed silent. If parenting and the accidents that went with it had taught her anything, it was that even something so seemingly short as ten minutes could feel like a lifetime when you were condemned to waiting.

“Don’t worry, mom,” Jim said softly, leaning closer to her while she was easing the car into a parking space. “I’ve done this plenty of times before. I will be able to stall them for 10 minutes.”

In his hand the amulet of Merlin glistened.

“I know, love,” she replied and pulled the key out of ignition before placing her hand atop his. “But moms will be moms.”

She winked at him encouragingly but was grateful that nobody was looking at her afterwards when Jim was trying to squeeze himself past Draal and out of the vehicle. She turned her face towards the window and listened to the patter of the heavy beads as they collided and burst against the glass. Salt prickled in her eyes.

Toby talked while the group were waiting for the minutes to tick by, a nervous habit she had noticed many times before. She hoped that Aaarrrgghh’s quietly calm answers would help put his mind at ease. The giant troll was certainly very patient with his little friend. Draal, on the other hand, was clenching and unclenching one of his enormous fists or curling his back in a manner that made the diamonds on his spine protrude and dangerously skim the roof of the car. She remembered Jim’s story about the death of Kanjigar, about Draal’s angry determination to become the next trollhunter and to avenge him. She wondered if his thoughts were now, too, with his father.

Slowly, slowly the dial on her car’s clock slid from one minute to the next until the entire group heaved a collective sigh of relief when it was time to go and take action. Barbara retrieved her bag from the trunk and together they slunk towards the museum which loomed ominously in the distance. Unanimously they all remained quiet until voices drifted towards them from the main exhibition room.

“Master Jim, I have taught you better than this! Leave now, do not let these cowards win!”

“Your friend is smart, Trollhunter,” a darker voice rumbled which Barbara immediately realised belonged to Bular. “It’ll be my pleasure to silence him completely.”

“You won’t be silencing anyone today!” she said firmly and stepped out into the open, strengthened by the knowledge that Aaarrrgghh and Draal were towering tall behind her.

Still, the sight before her was frightening. The arc of the completed bridge went higher than most ordinary houses in Arcadia Oaks and on it hunched the terrible figure of Bular. The memory of Walter’s broken and battered wings flashed before her eyes and her stomach clenched in fear. The changeling himself was standing at the foot of the bridge looking pale and unwell, Nomura by his side who snickered and rubbed her blades together with glee. Her eyes seemed to repeatedly drift to the imprisoned Blinky dangling helplessly in a net above them all.

Bular’s terrible laugh echoed through the chamber. “More playthings, I see. And two crippled trolls that are an embarrassment to our species. I tire of this.” He sobered completely and in the semi-darkness his eyes gleamed ominously. “Kill them, Stricklander!”

With a terrible battle cry of his own, Jim charged into action. Lithe and with surprising agility, he scaled the bridge and flung himself towards his friend.

“For the glory of Merlin Daylight is mine to command!” He thrust one hand into the air while the other went automatically to his hip where the blade should have been but nothing happened.

Bular’s laughter grew evermore terrible. “Oh poor Trollhunter. No armour? No weapon? Whatever will you do now?” And with the swipe of one great claw he swept up the boy and hoisted him in the air. “Does this look familiar?” he whispered darkly, unfurling his other hand to produce a shining amulet.

Barbara’s heart pounded painfully in her chest while she stood frozen, forced to watch it all unfold.

“Stricklander stole it for me and replaced yours with a fake. Perhaps he thought that would spare your measly life – I fear living amongst humans has made him pitifully weak. Fortunately, I had other plans. I abhor open ends. Only a dead trollhunter is a good trollhunter.” His mouth was stretched so far when he grinned that all his pointy teeth were revealed. “And now your end has come!”

With this, Bular jammed the amulet of Merlin into the opening in the bridge and a sound ripped like the whip of lightning through the structure, illuminating its cracks like veins in the same faint blue glow.

“No!” Blinky and Draal yelled at once while Jim struggled frantically against Bular’s iron grasp.

“I will enjoy breaking your back, young human!”

In her desperation Barbara staggered forward, fingers grasping at the bridge to find a hold somewhere to start climbing.

“Not my son, please! Let him go. He cannot fight you you coward!”

Yelling, screaming, Barbara advanced, hands always slipping, nails scraping against unforgiving stone. Everybody else around her seemed equally petrified.

“Walter, please!” she cried, seeking out the changeling’s eyes when her strength was dwindling and she still couldn’t get any nearer to her son. “Please help him! This isn’t you! This can’t be you! Do something, I beg you. Not my boy…”

She faltered when he averted his eyes. His jaw clenched, he visibly swallowed. Even paler, he looked nauseated and woozy, as though he might collapse. Yet still, he remained silent.

Barbara could taste Bular’s despicable laughter or perhaps it was merely the salt of her own tears. Then the world sped up again and everything happened at once. Draal hurled himself at Bular without fear and knocked him off-balance while Aaarrrggh scaled up to free Blinky from the net. Jim, no longer clutched in Bular’s large claw dropped towards the floor at sickening pace.

“Sometimes you have to make your own luck,” a familiar voice whispered in her ear and suddenly she knew what she had to do.

Letting go of her satchel she tightly clasped Hecate’s key in her palm and teleported just in time to break his fall. His weight knocked the air out of her lungs and turned everything blurry and shapeless for a moment. Her bones ached, her ribs felt bruised. It hadn’t been a smooth, heroic rescue, but it had worked.

“I’ve got you,” she whispered, holding him close. “I’ve got you.”

Jim’s eyes were large and blue, and they remained locked with hers while the fight ensued. Then someone screeched high-pitched and noisily in a way that made her ears ring. Feet scuttled and scraped until Nomura loomed over them. Her blades flew through the air in tandem and missed their heads by inches, shaving a few strands of hair off.

Barbara who had held her breath and squeezed her eyes shut dared to open one slowly now and found that the changeling's arms had been webbed to the floor. She heard the rushing of air as oxygen was squeezed out of her body.

“You!” Nomura hissed. “What are you doing?”

“I have absolutely no idea! But this is for you, Jacques!” Jean cackled and threw herself into the depth of battle.

More footsteps rushed closer to them until Toby, pale-faced and heavily perspiring, arrived in front of them. “Jimbo, Dr L, are you alright?”

It was admirable how her son pushed himself upright to comfort his friend, Barbara thought fleetingly, before her attention was drawn elsewhere again. It was impossible to keep track of everything that was going on, from Jean locked in battle with Bular buying Draal valuable time who was doing his best to yank the amulet back out of the bridge, to Aaarrrgghh tearing and tugging at the net his friend was captured in with teeth and hands, to the swirling portal that was beginning to form in a shimmering mass of light.

“We gotta get you your amulet back, man.”

A giant, horned silhouette was starting to appear in the distance.

“I know. What do I do? What do I do?”

The fight atop the bridge was reaching its critical stage with Jean, now battered and bruised, coming out decidedly worse for wear. Wind was picking up, too, creating a whirlpool of force that slowly and then much faster started sucking them towards the centre of the bridge.

“It’s happening. He’s coming.” It was the first time that Stricklander had spoken. His voice, cracked and hoarse, sounded anything but joyous at the realisation.

“No,” Nomura whispered who had succeeded in desperately prying one hand loose. “No, he’s going to stop it. Do something, Stricklander!”

Hearing her command, Bular’s large head whipped around too and with one mighty slash he whipped Jean away.

"No!” he roared, but it was already too late.

The light which had spread out across the bridge was drawing back inwards, accumulating all at once inside the amulet before bursting free in a blindingly hot flash. Draal wailed in pain and the wind strengthened, starting to suck everything and everyone towards the murky depth of the unstable portal.

Jim, Barbara and Toby clutched onto each other, Blinky, Aaarrrgghh and Stricklander grabbed the bridge for dear life. Only Nomura, recently freed from the confines of Jean’s webs helplessly tumbled across the floor, desperately scraping, scratching and grasping for anything to cling onto. Debris flew wildly through the chamber, knocking into her, sending her scrambling. It knocked into Barbara, too, until Hecate's key flew out of her grasp.

Nomura screeched and groaned but even in her anguish continued to prevail. The battle, however, was a hopeless one.

“Don’t let go of each other,” Barbara firmly instructed, looking at Jim and Toby, and then released their hands to let herself be drawn towards the eye of the storm.

Dust blew into her eyes, dimming her vision. Even in her struggle, Nomura had made it look easier than it was. Barbara could barely get a grip anywhere, and her natural clumsiness only served to make things harder. But giving up was not an option.

“Miss Nomura!” she shouted over the howling of the wind. “Miss Nomura, take my hand!” She reached out as far as she could, stretching her fingers until a sharp pain ripped through them.

The changeling’s eyes remained wary.

“There’s no time for this now. There are no sides. Just take my goddamn hand!”

The wind tore at them both, quietening the last shreds of trepidation. And then her hand was in hers and Barbara had to dig her nails into the floor to keep them both from slipping.

"Mom! Mom, take my hand!" Jim called, stretching out his own arm now while Toby continued to hold on to his other hand. "We've got you."

She lunged and staggered once, nearly falling back but thankfully finding his hand first. Stubbornly, they clutched on to each other.

The portal was closing, they were nearly there. The bridge was crumbling.

“Almost!”

But not quite.

A dark shadow leapt from the collapsing structure. Bular steadied himself with one large claw and used the other to sweep them away into the abyss. Barbara squeezed her eyes shut. Knew that even if she tried to roll away she would never escape, because she was neither quick nor agile enough.

It was the thud that made her open her eyes again and only at the last moment did she see Jean’s battered body catching the swipe and disappearing into the darkness. Then the portal closed and with it the wind ceased. Everything became eerily quiet and hung suspended in space and time.

“Draal!” Jim’s piercing scream cut through the silence, and shattering with it the small moment of reprieve. “Draal!”

Dust was settling over the rubble that had once been a bridge and only slowly his fallen body became visible. While Barbara sank onto her knees, her clothes ripped and torn in places, her ribs aching and tender, her son darted through the debris and towards his friend.

“Miss Nomura, can you hear me?”

It required much effort to keep her attention on the unconscious changeling in front of her. Her breath washed out in shallow waves. She counted several deep lacerations. One blunt head trauma.

“Draal? Please wake up.”

Toby had joined her son now but despite their joint effort they were both struggling to hoist the heavy body of the troll up. Finally, a groan rumbled through him. Groggily, he lifted his head.

“The amulet, Trollhunter.” His chin jerked.

Her eyes followed them from a distance, down his arm which now abruptly ended near his elbow. The other half missing, broken on the ground and in it the amulet of Merlin. Feeling tears sting her eyes for the sacrifices made, Barbara bent over Nomura’s body and gently touched her shoulder where she appeared to be unharmed.

“Miss Nomura, can you hear me?”  she tried again.

A flutter here. A twitch there. Something, she surmised.

Then a booming reminder that the battle was far from over. Foul, hot breath rushing over her skin.

“You will not get away with this!”

“No, Bular.” Jim’s voice. Firm and determined. A leader, comfortable in his role. “ _You_ will not get away with this. Enough of my friends have been harmed.”

Another thunderous bellow, as Bular rushed towards her son.

“For the glory of Merlin-“

Bular leapt into the air, bearing down on Jim with both of his massive fists.

“You heard the boy, Bular. Enough is enough!”

Sharp hissing as daggers flew through the air, diverting his attention away from her son.

“Daylight is mine to command!”

One final flash of brilliant blue and they were off, Stricklander and Jim fighting side by side. In front of her, Nomura finally began to stir.

“Just lie still,” Barbara instructed, tearing her eyes away again, “and let me assess you.”

She dipped a hand into her satchel and found amongst a few broken shards of glass luckily the tincture that disinfected tears in changeling skin.

Around her, the battle continued. Sword and daggers clanked and crashed. Bodies gnashed into each other. Something slammed into the walls of the museum until the ground shook.

“Quick, Young Atlas, he went this way!”

Barbara puffed a strand of hair out of her face and strengthened her hold on Nomura. She just caught Stricklander extending his arm to her son who had been knocked to the ground.

“I know it isn’t pleasant, but it will help you," she told her calmly.

Nomura's eyes blinked. “Why are you helping me?”

Around them the conversation continued. “We will be quicker if we fly.”

Bular had left a hole in the side of the building.

“You’re right. Let’s go.”

Knowing that she couldn't stop them, that the battle had to be brought to an end, she looked back down at Nomura. Her own eyes softened. “Because this is the only way.”  
  



	19. In the Still of the Night

Barbara awoke in the dark with a start, her shirt clinging to her damp back. A few stray lights had drifted in from the streetlamps outside and were dotting the ceiling and walls of her bedroom. She inhaled deeply, wiped her forehead and reached with still trembling fingers for her glasses.

Another nightmare.

She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and waited, listening for any sounds from the adjacent room, but her son seemed to thankfully have remained peacefully asleep. Slowly, she peeled out the drawer of her nightstand and collected a sheath of papers with which in hand she quietly proceeded downstairs. The only light switch she flicked on was the one in the kitchen. The brightness momentarily blinded her, but when she got her bearings, she dropped the papers on the table and poured some water into the kettle. Hopefully, a nice cup of tea would make her drowsy enough to go back to sleep. Until then there were plans to consider.

It had been several weeks since the battle at the museum or the battle of the two bridges from which her son and Strickler had both returned with several states of bruising but otherwise alive. With Bular slain, it had certainly been cause for celebration.  Barbara paused to push her glasses to the crown of her head and rubbed her tired eyes. And even the days that had immediately followed their triumph had been filled to the brim with small successes. She had overseen Nomura’s recovery, although this was also in large parts due to the DNA of changelings which allowed them to heal much faster than humans. She had helped Draal grow accustomed to his prosthetic and relished in seeing him return to his usual boisterous nature. And then there was her actual work, of course. Hours and hours of it after her emergency sick leave. But even the busiest period has its lulls and eventually Barbara found herself thinking about everything that wasn’t so exhilarating or positive. Like the sacrifices made, or Walter.

Soft footsteps now drew her attention away from those thoughts.

“Couldn’t sleep either, huh?” Jim asked, clambering down the stairs.

“Not really. It’s a lot to process, kiddo. How about some tea?”

She automatically slid her work schedule on top of the other papers before rising to her feet to pour them two mugs.

“Yes, thanks, mom.” He slumped down on a chair. “What’s keeping you awake then?”

The question was posed innocently enough, and yet she knew what he was trying to ask. There was a silent agreement not to mention Strickler’s name unless absolutely necessary.

“Jean’s fate,” she answered with a sigh. Which was the truth if also not the entire one. “I keep dreaming about her being sucked into that portal. Keep hearing the thump as Bular’s claw swipes her away.” She scooted one mug in his direction and guided the other one up to her lips even though it was much too hot to drink from yet. Steam billowed up against her lips and nose in little clouds and made warm condensation cling to her while the images played over in her mind again. “I know there’s nothing I could have done in the moment, but trading Nomura for her seems hardly fair.”

“Well,” Jim tried diplomatically, “we would’ve lost one either way. And I thought you weren’t so keen on Jean.”

“I’m not. I mean our history is complicated at best as I’ve told you. But that doesn’t mean I want her dead.”

“She didn’t really die.” He grimaced and took a tentative sip of his tea which scolded his mouth and made him hurriedly set down the mug again. “She’s just stuck in the Darklands.”

“Which might as well be a death sentence. Especially if Gunmar knows that she helped close the bridge.”

They both lapsed into silence for a little while, each stuck in their own thoughts.

“So what’s been on your mind then, honey? You said you couldn’t sleep either.”

She often wondered how he managed to compartmentalise all his impressions and experiences, how he could digest the risks he faced on a daily basis. It was a shame, really, that trolls had no therapist profession within their ranks or he might have benefited from it. Any conversation with a human one would always be restricted to vague descriptions.

When she focused on Jim again, she realised how terribly uncomfortable he looked, almost like she imagined him reacting if she had mentioned a therapist out loud. One eyebrow rose in mild curiosity but somehow her lips managed to stem the flood of questions building up in her mouth.

“It’s about Claire,” he finally confessed, and Barbara was surprised to find herself breathing a sigh of relief. Not trolls, not another Armageddon, just girls. Normal teenager stuff.

“Oh? What about her?”

Again, he shifted about in his chair until his leg knocked into the table and made both of their mugs wobble and clank.

“It’s two things, really.” He took a deep breath to fortify his nerves. “Before the bridge and all that went down…when I was still coming to terms with the responsibility and you and- well,” he awkwardly cut himself off and then started again. “Your trips to Paris, I wrote her a letter. It was one of those spur-of-the-moment things. I tried telling her about the trolls I was fighting, about all the times I was late for something or acted weird. But then I survived! Great, right? I mean, of course it’s great. But now the letter is still out there and she’s read it and she’s asking me about my demons.” He laughed in embarrassment. “As though I’ve got some kind of psychological problem.”

“Well, honey. She’s a very smart, sensitive girl. She could obviously tell that you weren’t acting like yourself and got worried. And it’s fine to struggle, you know? It shouldn’t be something to be embarrassed about.”

“Yeah, alright. Sure. But the thing is, Claire’s brother, Enrique? He’s not really her brother. He’s another changeling, and I don’t like the thought of him living so close to her when she has no clue about any of this! Plus, she absolutely adores her brother, so she’ll be crushed if she finds out that he isn’t actually…the real one.”

“What are you thinking then, kiddo? That fake Enrique was planted there when they discovered you were the Trollhunter?”

“No, I think he’s been there longer. Seems to have gone native.” He grimaced and rolled his eyes in a way that made her wonder what sort of strange behaviours the changeling might have picked up.

“So a coincidence then.”

“Yeah, just another spy. And his human counterpart is probably somewhere in the Darklands.”

She steadily kept her gaze focused on her mug and forced herself to take one mouthful of tea. Little did her son know what plans lay hidden and dormant under the cover of her hospital schedule at that precise moment.

“So anyway, I keep worrying about all of it. Whether she’s in danger, whether I should tell her the truth. But what if she holds me responsible?”

“Honey, Claire is a very sensible girl. I’m sure if you explained it all to her, she would see that none of this is your fault.”

He chewed on his lip and rocked forward against the table. “I just keeping thinking that maybe if I just bring her brother back that’d soften the blow.”

Barbara frowned and leaned back in her chair. “That would mean travelling to the Darklands in the middle of term.”

“Mom, it’s the end of term!” he protested.

“And you’ve got a lot of catching up to do! Besides, you have no idea how long it would take you or what that place is like. You’d been going in blind, and I can’t say I like that.”

He opened his mouth to argue again but eventually closed it and just slumped over. “You’re right. I’m the Trollhunter, I should have a plan at least.”

She could feel her muscles relax into a smile.

“You’re a good kid, honey. We’ll figure it out, alright?” She rose to her feet to wrap her arms around him from behind and to place a small kiss on the crown of his head. “Now back to bed. School starts in a couple of hours.”

He hummed but eventually got up, lingering in her arms long enough to give her a squeeze. “Can I give you a little bit of advice as well, mom?”

Surprised, she pulled back a little and nodded her assent while her eyebrows rose in question.

“Maybe just…talk to him? He hasn’t been in school for ages, because he’s on sick leave. And I think it isn’t the kind that you fake. I’m not exactly an advocate for him or for your relationship, and I do think he deserves a bit of suffering, but he helped in the end. Plus he tried to warn me. I think he took the amulet that night because he honestly hoped that Bular would leave it at that. Use it, bring Gunmar back without pulling me into all of this again. When I met him at the museum he urged me not to go inside, to listen to Blinky’s advice. He really sounded desperate.”

Barbara grimaced and let go of him to sit back down at the table where her tea was getting cold. She couldn’t think about Strickler without experiencing the gut-dropping emptiness of disappointment and the bitter taste of salt on her tongue.

“If nothing else, Jean and Strickler risked a lot helping us that night, and we have no idea in what position this has brought them now that Bular is gone. We’ve started this, we owe them at least some consideration in the matter.” He rounded the table to squeeze her hand. “Just think about it, mom. And try to get some sleep.” He pecked her forehead and slunk away towards the stairs. “Goodnight.”

* * *

  
  
The car was humming softly underneath her while a whisper of music drifted out of the speakers of the radio. She had been parked outside his house for the better part of half an hour and still couldn’t bring herself to take any steps towards its door. Her seat had been clicked all the way back so that she could take turns studying the dents in the ceiling left behind by the trolls and the man pacing about in his kitchen. She wondered if he knew that she was there, if he had some kind of changeling sixth sense. She wondered about a lot of things. But perhaps wondering was no longer enough.

She mashed her knee into the buttons on the radio to silence it, then straightened her seat and stepped out of the car. The distinct chill of autumn lingered in the air.

“Just breathe,” she told herself, but it wasn’t so easy when every gulp of air seemed to diffuse somewhere inside the upper tract of her chest.

Pebbles crunched noisily underneath her shoes and when she rang the doorbell it felt as though its brash chiming could wake the entire neighbourhood. Barbara grimaced and smoothed down her clothes, noticed how much her hand trembled and quickly crossed both arms behind her back in a rather uncharacteristic manner. It didn’t take Walter long to answer but when he saw who had arrived on his doorstep he nearly doubled back and paled.

“Bar-barbara?” he questioned, his voice a mixture of fear and hope.

She offered him a little smile that twitched as pitifully as her hands had shaken. “Can I come in?”

His eyes lingered on her face as though he had been thirsting to see her for months, but then they moved to the street behind her and slowly he beckoned her in.

“Of course. I’m sorry. Would you like some tea?”

“Yes, thank you. Just as long as it isn’t spiked with something.”

He chuckled nervously and glanced over his shoulder as he led her into his kitchen. “I do believe that was Nomura’s doing.”

Blessed be the ignorant or those who have taken their own memory, Barbara thought dryly.

“Let’s just say it seems to be a popular changeling strategy, and I’d prefer not to go through it again.”

That sobered him further and as he pottered around his kitchen island, filling a kettle and collecting the teabags, he carefully avoided her eyes.

“How is she by the way?”

“Who? Oh, Nomura? Yes, she’s fine. Recovering.” He seemed to think that long sentences were too risky and in lieu of too many words settled for rubbing his hands together. “Thanks to you.”

“It’s my job,” Barbara shrugged, “it’s what I do." The half-truth expanded in the space between them, filling it up with questions Walter did not dare ask and answers Barbara did not wish to examine. "Which leads me to my next question." She hurriedly moved on. "How are your headaches? Jim says you've been on indefinite sick leave?”

"Persistent, unfortunately, and irregular. It is difficult to plan a day when you don't know whether you will be fully functional or trapped in a dark room sensitive to anything above a whisper."

"I'm sure. Have you actually seen a doctor?"

"I've had to, but they couldn't find anything. Maybe it's stress."

Barbara stayed quiet until the kettle whistled noisily and both of them nearly jumped out of their skin. Then there was only the sound of sloshing water as Walter filled up their cups.

“Sugar? Milk?”

“Neither, thank you.”

Another too full, stilted silence.

Barbara let her tea cool down and reached for her satchel. Overflowing with items, it clanked noisily as it met with the island.

“You’re probably wondering why I’m here.”

She pulled the zipper open and slipped her fingers inside the bag. Walter remained silent but nodded tentatively. She remembered him then in the moment after the Battle of the Two Bridges, wounded but stable, helping Jim walk back into the museum. Pride in his eyes. Pride that had dimmed when he had looked at her and found nothing in return. A harsh reality settling between them. She had stuck to her work then, examined him for injuries and wounds with a professional eye and little else, and afterwards he had kept to himself. There were times when she felt it was for the best, and there were times where she wished he would just show up on her doorstep to offer one explanation, any explanation that would help mend her heart.

“I’m trying to gather information about the Darklands, and Jim thought you’d be the best source of information.”

By proxy felt safer than the truth; she didn’t need Jim to tell her that Walter was the most knowledgeable source. He’d taught her almost everything, after all.

“Of course,” he nodded now, “I’d be happy to help. Though I hope he isn’t planning to venture into the Darklands? After everything he and his friends fought for, it would be a terrible way to repay them.”

“You still don’t have faith in him, do you?” she asked, and he recoiled from the sting in her tone.

His eyebrows, however, furrowed and a little bit of impatience slipped through the cracks of his careful self-control when he answered. “Your son has proven himself to be a capable leader and skilled fighter whose loyalty and world-openness has no doubt been shaped by his mother. But he does not know the horrors of the Darklands, nor the dangers that would await him there, especially now that Bular is dead. And this is no ignorance on his part. Only those of us who have experienced the Darklands and lived to tell the tale know how hideously treacherous they are. Losing your son under such pointless circumstances would be a waste.”

“He is trying to recover his friend’s brother who has infiltrated her house in changeling guise. And I am trying to help Jean-“

“If she is still alive,” Walter interrupted, rising curtly to his feet. He took up a position by the window and remained there, his fingers steepled against his abdomen and his back stubbornly turned towards her.

“Either way, I would call neither of those pointless circumstances.”

Walter bristled but offered nothing further for a while, leaving her to wonder how everything could have gone so very wrong for them. It was difficult to resent someone yet yearn for them at the same time. Perhaps they’d needed more time. Or perhaps she was still behaving cowardly, hoping for a pure white outcome when their relationship had always existed in shades of grey.

“I appreciate your concern, Walter, for both me and Jim. But don’t you think you’re letting it run you too much? You said it’s difficult to understand the horrors of the Darklands if you haven’t experienced them yourself. But you _have_ , you and Nomura. Sure, whatever information you share with us won’t magically allow us to feel what you felt or see the things you saw. But it’ll give us a better understanding and subsequently help us be better prepared. Because we will go to the Darklands, Walter, with or without your help.”

He slowly pivoted to the right, bringing only his profile into full view again. And his eyes. Emerald eyes filled with annoyance and adoration in equal measure.

“Nothing in this world could have prepared me for you,” he said and reverence painted his voice in warm and tender hues that made looking at him impossibly hard. His fondness pierced her; the intimacy it created even more so.

“You know what they say about the best laid plans,” she chuckled nervously and took a sudden interest in her mug.

He was moving about behind her; his scent drifted closer and teased her nostrils.

“Make yourself comfortable. I will be back shortly. I have a few bits and bobs in the attic that you might consider useful.”

She chuckled again in acknowledgement but didn’t trust her voice to say anything else, and so he walked away from her and didn’t return for a small while. In his absence Barbara thought about everything and nothing at once. She tried not to revisit his longing gaze too often while Jean’s sharp words about acceptance fluttered through her mind.

“Here we are.”

She was grateful for his return and moved aside her own bag to make room on the table for all the scrolls he was carrying in his arms. As he unfolded them one by one and fastened them with glasses and mugs and pieces of stationary so they wouldn’t roll back up again, it became clear that he hadn’t just amassed maps and plans of what appeared to be an intricate system of tunnels but also collected various writings in trollish.

“Sometimes it pays to be a historian,” he joked lightly, though his eyes showed a slight bit of hesitation whether such levity was welcome yet.

“You bet,” she nodded, flashing him a brief smile of truce. “Now I can read a few words in Trollish but not enough to decipher all that, so you’re gonna have to help me out.”

“That’s what I’m here for. Though perhaps – before we begin – you’d permit me a question?”

“Sure,” Barbara shrugged. “As long as I retain the right not to answer if I don’t want to?”

He spread his hands in a gesture of agreement, but his brow remained furrowed as though he didn’t quite approve.

“Where did you learn Trollish at all? I don’t believe Jim has any grasp of the language.”

“No, he’s definitely had his hands full learning other stuff.”

She traced one tunnel on the map with her eyes, averting her thoughts away from Walter’s cosy apartment in Paris and the bookshelves it had housed.

“I just picked up a book once.” Too casual. “A medicine book written by a changeling, so the text was in Trollish and in human language.”

“You’re lucky it was in English then.” His eyes twinkled.

“Given everything that happened, I reckon I deserve a bit of luck.”

Walter nodded and studied her for a moment as though trying to gauge her mood. “My guess is that the book was sealed in magic, making it legible no matter your country or language of origin.”

“That’s very clever!”

He nodded along enthusiastically. “It certainly is if you want your scripture to be spread far and wide.”

“And so it should. Without it, I would have been far less prepared and Miss Nomura’s injuries might have turned out far worse.”

Again, he hummed in agreement while his large hands smoothed out the scroll that rested on the table between them. A searching look lay in his eyes, as though he was still trying to make sense of her decision to support the changelings. She hoped he found the answers he wanted.

“So…well…the Darklands,” he eventually began, clearing his throat nervously. “As you can see the Darklands are essentially a maze, and while they are meant to puzzle and confuse, there are certain tracts of it that serve a purpose.” He tapped a few words on the scroll and then drew a map close for their perusal. “The main chamber, the arena, the cells, the laboratory and the nursery.”

“Takes a special talent to make all of these words sound ominous somehow.” Walter returned her grim smile but added nothing else.

“If Young Atlas is looking to retrieve his friend’s brother, he will find him in the nursery. But do not let that fool you, it shan’t be a straightforward endeavour. Goblins will be everywhere, watching over thousands and thousands of familiars. To find the human child he is looking for will be like searching for a needle in a haystack.”

“It’s never easy, is it?” she joked half-heartedly, but Walter barely looked at her.

“As for your endeavour. Well….Jean could be anywhere if indeed she is still alive. Caught by Gumm-Gumms and thrust into the cells.” He paused long enough to tap a point on the map. “Turned into one of Gunmar’s playthings, fighting in the arena only to be sacrificed in the end. Or she could be lost and wandering the tunnels by herself in which case the chances of finding her are even slimmer.”

Barbara nodded and took a moment to process the new information. A sip of tea helped her settle.

“What about traps? Enchantments? Anything we should know?”

“Your biggest concern should be the Gumm-Gumm guards. They follow a specific patrol route through the Darklands. I can’t tell you their exact path, unfortunately. But yes, there is always the chance of traps or enchantments. It’s a rough land where many trolls and changelings have gone feral. Planning will only aid you so far.”

He sounded regretful and Barbara found herself reaching across the table to squeeze his hand before she’d even realised what she’d done. He looked as taken off-guard as she felt by her own actions and hastily pushed on. Over the course of the next half an hour, he shared his own knowledge and built on it with further details found in the scrolls he’d collected while she hastily scribbled notes down.

“Might I inquire about one more thing?” he asked when he had run out of things to say and she was still busy jotting down things.

“Uhu,” she nodded without pausing her writing.

“Why is Jean so important to you? She must be or otherwise you wouldn’t risk your life to visit the Darklands. How do you know each other? I barely remember making her acquaintance.”

The pen quivered in her hand and when she finally put it down and looked up at him, her eyes were full of things she couldn’t say. Her mouth worked hard.

“How Jean and I met is a complicated story, but what’s certain is that she hated my guts. Still, as time went by she realised some errors that she’d made, but most importantly she realised who was really responsible for some of the hardships she had suffered. She openly told me about her hatred for Bular and Gunmar and in the end she was the first changeling to take a stance against them. I can only imagine what courage that must’ve required of her.”

“Or maybe she didn’t have anything to lose,” Walter intercepted carefully. A hint of something in his eyes that had her curling her fingers around the edge of the table.

“Did _you_?”

He hadn’t anticipated this, sat back further in his chair as his face developed a rather pink colour.

“Well, I…that is to say.” His nostrils flared. It looked as though he was desperately trying to collect himself. “I’d already lost, of course, after that dinner. But still, yes, I suppose, I had more to lose.”

“Like?” she pressed, leaning in closer to pin him down with her eyes.

“My freedom, my life. Your life, Jim’s life.”

“Yet you let him walk into the museum, knowing fully well that the amulet he carried was a fake.”

“I tried to warn him!” Walter insisted desperately. “I hadn’t planned for anything to play out like this.”

“No…no you didn’t.” She slumped back into herself, all anger swiftly evaporated. “You took every precaution to avoid hardship.”

Suddenly all she felt was tired, tired of her own feelings and tired of his memory loss that kept standing between them.

“Listen, it’s late and I should be going.”

“Of course.” He looked as deflated as she felt but nonetheless rose to his feet to accompany her to the door once she had collected all of her things.

“For what it’s worth, Walter,” she began when the darkness outside opened up in front of her and the cold evening breeze started to slip underneath her skin, “I’m grateful for your help now. Better late than never.”

His smile was sad and reflective, born more out of politeness than anything else. He fumbled with the hem of his turtleneck sweater.

“But it isn’t good enough, is it?” He shook his head before she could interrupt and continued. “Barbara, I owe you an apology, several apologies, actually. I should have thought of different ways to prevent Jim from being involved in this. I should not have tried to gain your trust for my own motives. It’s in my nature, all of our nature, but it won’t do.” He hung his head and she could only see the furrowing of his dark eyebrows. “You gave me an olive branch, the biggest one I have ever been offered in my century-long life, and still I was too cowardly to accept. But when you steal and abuse someone’s trust, you don’t find it easy to put your own trust in others. It seems unlikely that it will ever be true. But I wish I had now, Barbara. I wish for so many things.”

Despite her anger, she had not wanted him to feel so wretched and gently clasped his hands in hers.

“Thank you, Walter. I accept your apology.” His incredulous gaze nearly proved to be her undoing. “But I’ll need time, alright? Everything that’s happened…well, let’s just say it’s all been a lot, and it can’t be dealt with or processed in a day. I don’t know how long it’ll take me, but hopefully soon we can start from the beginning, a new beginning. Yes?”

Carefully, as though holding onto something terribly fragile, he guided her hand up to his lips. “I am indebted to-“

“No,” she intercepted firmly, shaking her head. “No debts. A clean slate. I-“ She took a moment to catch her breath. “I really do care about you, Walter. I’ve never stopped.”

He swallowed thickly and pressed her palm to his cheek. “And neither have I.”


	20. Paris Loves Lovers

The airplane had started its descent a few minutes ago, the nose dipping gently lower and lower, parting the clouds on its way to give view of a vast city that twinkled invitingly in the light of the setting sun. Barbara’s stomach dropped when they jostled through the air and automatically she squeezed her companion’s hand tighter while pressing her face to the window.

“Nervous?” he murmured into her ear, shifting so close that the tip of his nose skimmed her neck in a way that made her stomach jolt for different reasons entirely.

“No, but excited. I’ve always liked flying. It’s a little bit like being on a roller-coaster."

“Do I have competition?” he teased, capturing her earlobe lightly between his lips.

“Stop it, Walt,” she laughed and disentangled herself. “You know that when it comes to flying there is no one quite like you.”

His emerald eyes shone brightly but his lips twitched with mischief. “Only when it comes to flying then?”

The disapproving look from the woman to their immediate right did little to stop the tightening just underneath her navel, and so she returned it with a challenging look of her own. Head held high, posture confident, her mind filled to the brim with flashes of delicious memories. What glorious things he could do with his mouth…

Her gaze wavered, wandered towards his lips now, betraying the direction of her thoughts.

“I see,” Walter said, not even trying to vanquish the smug grin from his face.

“You see nothing,” she tutted in return, focusing back on the wonderful city beneath them once more.

It had been a little more than six months since the Battle of the Two Bridges and after a tentative start, their acquaintance had morphed into a friendship which, in turn, had quickly escalated into courtship. Much to her son’s annoyance, there had hardly been a time when Walter hadn’t visited the house, or she hadn’t used her days’ off to visit him. A silent agreement had grown between them to keep details to a minimum, as another run-in with his half-clad teacher might prove to be too much too soon.

So Barbara had been even more surprised to find that Jim had given his blessing when Walter had proposed this little romantic getaway.

“In fact it was Young Atlas who strongly suggested I’d take you to Paris,” Walter had told her, immediately puzzled when she had laughed and shaken her head.

His memory still showed no signs of resurfacing, and somewhere she had given up on it, too. It was no use dwelling on the forgotten blossoming of a relationship when it was happening nonetheless in the here and now.

When the doors of the aeroplane opened and the mild Spring breeze drifted into every corner of the stale cabin, Barbara took a deep breath and savoured it. She could not wait to be away from this sardine tin of people, away from the airport and the noise of the starting jets. Her desire to immerse herself in the Parisian life once more, to walk those familiar streets and observe the changes had only grown the closer they had got to their destination. But for now there was the border control and customs to be faced, as well as a long trek on train to deliver them into the heart of Paris.

By the time they arrived at their cosy little inn, evening had fallen completely and the sky was dotted with stars.

“I must say, Barbara,” Walter was commenting while she was perusing the breakfast menu for the selection of her choice, “I don’t know how I feel about your readiness to lie.”

Confused, she briefly looked up at him. “Mmh?”

He had rolled up his shirtsleeves and was taking great care in unpacking his suitcase.

“You know just now at check-in when Julie mistakenly referred to us as Mr and Mrs Lake?”

She took a while before answering, taking pleasure in the controlled movement of his hands as they smoothed wrinkles out of clothes, taking pleasure also in letting him suffer just a bit longer.

“It’s been a long trip. I figured the path of least resistance would be the better one in this instant.” The twitch of her lips nearly gave her away. “I wouldn’t read too much into it if I were you.”

He gave her a lingering look before he slid the suitcase under the bed.

“Oh, I didn’t. I was simply wondering why it’d have to be Mr and Mrs Lake and not Mr and Mrs Strickler.”

Barbara’s lips curved evermore upwards.

“Because I have standards!” she finally managed in her haughtiest voice which might even have made Jean proud.

Walter gasped and with lightning speed that went so completely against his studious professor look pounced on her, playfully pinning her to the bed.

“And what precisely is that supposed to mean, my dear?”

His eyes flashed yellow and Barbara laughed.

“It means,” she began, managing to free one hand, “that Mrs Strickler sounds like the obvious villain of a story, and if you’re going to be a villain, you better not make it so blatantly apparent.”

“But it’s my name,” he pouted. “In fact – you’d be surprised to hear it – but there is a rather famous line of Stricklers in the annals of English history, none of which villains or scoundrels of any kind.”

She listened to the stream of facts that followed with amusement and some mild curiosity but soon found herself lost in the way his eyes lit up or studying how the lines on his face moved with every passionate expression. He still was a fantastic storyteller, and it was no fault of his that her mind began to wander to those afternoons and evenings in which they’d stolen away together.

Her free hand found its own way up until her hungry fingers were permitted to rake through his thick hair. Once or twice she paused to collect a bunch of strands and tugged; other times she let her nails drag over his scalp. Underneath her ministrations Walter shuddered, his sentences grinding to a sudden halt.

“Bar-barbara.”

It was a half-moan. Half only because she knew how much lower, how much more desperate and hoarse his voice could become if she went further.

“Yes, honey?”

The faux-innocence of her question evaporated in the heat of his gaze, and before he could challenge her further, she slid her hand to the back of his head, pulling and scraping until he arched into her touch and his human form began to waver. Slowly, slowly horns appeared and she gladly palmed them, knowing how it drove him mad when she paid special attention to their base.

Walter’s groans were becoming darker and coarser now as he alternated between tipping his head back and letting it droop forward against her neck, his hot breath lapping at her skin in waves.

“Babe, I was wondering…” she whispered into his ear, barely holding on to her own moans as his hips automatically rocked up against hers. “Weren’t we going to go for dinner instead of skipping straight to dessert?”

His groan of frustration quickly diffused and with remarkable self-control that did little to soothe her arousal, he lifted his head up to offer her a charming grin.

“We’re in Europe now, dear. There are no rules.”

And before she could so much as even dream of formulating a witty come-back, he’d rolled off her to lie on his back, hoisting her up until she sat straddling his hips.

“Now, Miss Lake, where were we?”

His hungry mouth found the hollow of her throat with expert ease, his fangs just skimming the fine skin under which she pulsed and throbbed with life. His hands, wonderfully cool against her, opened buttons and caressed side and back until she was nothing more than an incoherent mess of sounds and syllables. By the time both of them were sated, the moonlight shining in through the window behind the bed was rivalling the streetlights.

“Perhaps a bit of room service would do the trick,” Walter, now back in his human form, mumbled softly. He’d brushed an unruly strand of hair behind her ear and was gently nuzzling her neck.

“But what about Paris?”

Her protests were only half-hearted; how to resist when one was warm and cocooned in the arms of one’s lover?

“She can wait.” His chuckle was mellow and lazy, matching the leisurely pace with which his fingers were drawing circles and other shapes on the canvas of her back.

“Mmh’alright then…” she murmured, stretching her feet until her toes curled comfortably against the sheet. “You make the call and I’ll take a nice hot shower.”

He watched her peel out of the blankets and drew her back against him before she could swing her legs over the edge of the bed.

“What would you like to eat?”

He pressed his face to the very top of her back, closing his eyes and pausing long enough to breathe her in. Her salt and sweetness, the floral scent of her hair. Barbara’s lids, too, fluttered and closed, and she granted herself a moment to savour and enjoy. His arms still held her encircled and she felt safe and protected under the steady flex of his muscles.

“Surprise me.” She finally found the strength to free herself and walk to the bathroom, pausing only in the doorway to look at him. “As long as it isn’t just small nibbles. I’m not a rabbit.”

Walter’s warm laughter followed her into the room, and as she caught her reflection in the mirror, her own broad smile made her shake her head at herself. After the end of her relationship with Jim’s father, she had almost forgotten how silly and intoxicating it felt to be in love.

The hotel sported a nice selection of lotions, shampoos and bath bombs and Barbara took her time in choosing, knowing that room service would be a while in anyway. Then she drew herself a luxurious bubble bath and sank into it both with the happy knowledge that much had already been achieved and that more hard trials loomed ahead in the months to come. Their venture into the Darklands, for example, which had to be postponed, as it wasn’t so straight forward to gain entry in the first place. And when guilt began to stir in the pit of her stomach – for poor Jean was possibly still trapped while she was out here vacationing – she swiftly dunked her head under the water’s surface, hoping to forget. The matter was rarely far from her mind; it shouldn’t have to ruin what was a breathing space, a moment of respite.

The first thing she noticed when she re-emerged from underneath the blanket of bubbles was the peculiar mist that clung to the air. Not so much condensation or steam, it seemed thicker, impenetrable almost but flickering as though the light caught in it. Perturbed but also somewhat curious, Barbara climbed out of the tub and fumbled blindly until her hands closed around a towel which she quickly slung around her body.

“Walter?” she called but no answer came. Perhaps he was just accepting their dinner and didn’t hear her.

She took a breath and began drying herself, her limbs sometimes disappearing from view in the thick mist that was swirling everywhere. She reached out for the sink, found it upon her second attempt and exhaled sharply through her nostrils. Because something was moving in the mirror, clearer than anything else in the space. A face. No. Three faces. A cascade of thick, dark hair. Three mouths that simultaneously pulled upwards into a smile.

“Hekate?” Barbara whispered, extending a hand to wipe the surface of the mirror.

The Goddess’s eyes sparkled and glistened.

“Handsome, isn’t he?” she asked, the same question she had once asked her before. 

Barbara opened her mouth but as abruptly as they had come, the faces vanished. Outside, something crashed and clanked. It sounded as though glass had been shattered, and she hurriedly rushed outside to find Walter standing over the broken remains of their dinner. One hand was loosely hanging by his side while the other was feeling his own head with trembling fingers.

“Walt, what happened?” she asked, touching his shoulder to make him focus.

His skin felt clammy even through his shirt and his face looked pale and sickly.

“Barbara?” he stared up at her as though he was seeing her for the very first time. Or perhaps as though he finally saw her properly.

“Yes, honey. What’s wrong?”

“I remember,” he whispered hoarsely. “I remember what I did.”   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- please don't kill me :)   
> \- thank you, thank you, thank you for your great response to and support for this story. It's been a pleasure writing it and that's in large parts due to your enthusiasm.  
> \- I've set it up this way too, as there's a potential for a Darklands sequel  
> \- Thanks again? :)


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